Get caught in the pouring rain

We had just sat down to dinner.
Legs tucked under skirts, skirts tucked under ankles,
ground firm beneath us, sharing two sides of a grill grate
balanced between two fallen tree limbs.

We had forgotten nearly everything that day:
at first, the grill itself,
along with all the tools needed for the reason we were there in the first place-
to split wood-
then, the meat to grill for dinner,
and finally anything off which to eat.
(We only had patience for the first two lapses in memory,
and decided to make due come the third.)

Not many people find themselves crouched near a fire, ripping meat with teeth and hands,
draped in period costume on a Sunday afternoon.
Not many people, but at least two.
Now of all the things not planned for this day,
surprisingly our Revolutionary ensembles were.
Just an attempt to take some good pictures.
Just some clothes two wear wood-splitting.
Just, just, just.
Justifying our stay-cation as something other than aimlessness or apathy-
no.
But our strange, little world of magic and adventure instead.

We passed libation back and forth,
the crisp taste of late spring passing teeth as bits of golden corn
and the bite of garlic mixed with towers of asparagus,
as clouds formed overhead and we laughed about rain.

We laughed about rain when it came disguised as wind;
we laughed about rain when it fell in sheets onto fluffy biscuits, strong cast iron and our formidable cook fire;
we laughed about rain as it soaked through skirt after skirt,
moving as you took me by the hand to run up onto the wide expanse of Land.

And a smile,
and a laugh,
and arms wide-spread, eyes closed, head back,
finally giving over to something which took you long ago.

And finally,
a kiss,
or maybe two
(or three),
till slick Jeep doors slammed shut and laughter carried us all the way home.

Play, laugh, kiss in the pouring rain // to “Shake It Out” by Florence + the Machine

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