Socked in with tropical storm Eta,
non-stop squalls for the next 24 hours.
I have the sliders open so I can hear
gushing in the gutters.  Rain
blowing in, splattering the white tile.
I know how it would feel on my bare feet,
wet and cool and slick.
We’re so enveloped in this gale
it’s hard to imagine
you could fly above it.
look down on it like a distant dream.
Life ghostly-hushed today,
we’re holding our breath for what comes next,
no golfers in bright shirts,
no grounds crew on their riding mowers.
Even the birds have disappeared, except for
a few flecks of white ibis
misty on a distant mound.