Walking in summer rain

I walk on,

aware of grey storm clouds

gathering,

darkening,

first few spots of rain.

The estuary beckons.

I walk on.

The clouds open,

rain pounding on my

waterproof jacket,

pouring streams down

my legs, drenching

my cotton trousers,

filling my shoes.

I walk on,

the estuary misty

shades of silver.

For the raindrops

bouncing off my head,

running down my legs,

I am simply a detour

between the clouds

and the sea.

I walk home,

feet surprisingly warm

as my body heats

the rain in my shoes.

This is what it is

to be

alive.

The cricket

The distant sound

of cricket on the radio

drifts hypnotically through

the open window.

Sitting at my desk

I struggle to stay awake,

work seems irrelevant,

not made for summer days.

Even the sound of someone

scoring something,

the cheers of the crowd,

the raised voices

of the commentators,

fail to rouse me

from this mid-afternoon torpor.