A late afternoon drive
through the countryside.

A lot of rolling hills
dotted with fields and farms.

Haying time, first of the season.
Old roads potted with holes,

asphalt turning to dirt...
we lay plumbs of dust.

The suddenness of a summer shower,
then thunder rumbles, the rain begins.

When the water hits the dirt
it almost looks like little atomic bombs.

We stop the car, not being able to see
through the windshield.

The farming community called Old Barns,
with a Lady Slipper Lane and the whole bit.

Silos breaking the sky, drizzle equals puddles,
puddles to drive home through.

A lick and a promise, the sweat of the gods,
nothing  comes close to a tour by the bay.