Not Exactly the ThunderStorm Post I was Expecting

A few days ago, maybe a couple weeks ago--
it's summer, who can keep track of time?--
I made a comment on quipsodelica
about making love in a thunderstorm . . .

Sigh. I imagine that if I did ever have children,
those possibilities might change . . .

For instance, when trailing on
a simple one mile picnic loop,
as a family,
I might be too busy picking blackberries
and stuffing our faces purple
to take heed of a little thunder.
Yet when the rains did start to pour,
I'd giggle gloriously with adventure underneath the foliage.

Lightning probably wouldn't concern me too much,
because a baseball field had just been struck several days ago,
killing one man--what are the chances of it striking
the same town this soon?

So I would let the children run in the rain,
splash in the mud,
trample on through the well worn path of a
well-known hike.

In fact, I'd even let the kids run ahead a bit . . .
my partner and I, soaked to the skin,
with rivlets of rain on our faces
might come upon a small plank bridge
and begin to kiss passionately.

I'd think about the times we made love in the rain,
about the warmth of our bodies
under the dripping canopy, the solitude and quite . . .
until it became too quite & I'd finally remember the children.

Without worries, I'd skip ahead
and we'd catch up to the first who was always lagging behind,
waiting to be pulled along the trail,
or better yet,
hoisted onto someone's shoulders.

Exiting the loop, with rain comeing down in sheets,
I'd probably hear the cries of another
child who took a wrong turn up ahead.
When I'd reach the second child,
that's when I'd noticed that the oldest one,
the one who thinks she knows everything there is/was to ever know,
was no where to be seen.


Instead of making love in the woods during a thunderstorm,
I'd probably spend the next half hour
looking for the third child, who skipped ahead of the blue trail
onto the green without any hesitation,
and debating on when to call the ranger . . .