Monday Mood: Waterlogged

I was just doing the final walkthrough before an Open House (we’re selling our house) when I noticed the Art Room floor was wet. Looking up at the sagging ceiling tile, I hollered for help . Ric came to the rescue, removing the tile and letting the rush of water free.

At our age, we do not move fast, and given the fact we both require use of the chair lift, the clean up was even slower. We did the best we could given the timeline and quit as Real Estate arrived.

“Tell them the plumber has been called”, Ric offered, anticipating people would come.

Exhausted we headed out with dog on board to vacate the house for 2 hours. The rain was pouring down with no relief in sight.

As I type this, the plumber is hunting down the problem. The rain continues. I am feeling waterlogged.

Rainstorm

Rain teases, trickles,
more sweat than shower
air thick and smothering
sits on my chest.

I exhale in puffs
willing chest to rise
begrudging this outing

Cardinal whistles
happy scales, while
somber sky squeezes
a single droplet
kisses my skin
and then explodes
pellet-like missiles
of water soaking

clothes cling
as a river traces
contours of face
body melting
into flow

and through it all
cardinal sings
a laughing melody.