Rainy Cabin Evening

Rain drops plip-plop on leaves   of oak and maple
And splat-splat-splat
   from the eaves of the
   screened-in porch
Where I read an old
   hard covered Ian Fleming novel--
   the pages crisp and musty
   from age and storage.

The rain creates a fresh,
   just-cleaned-the-earth smell
As well as stirring up
   the scent of decaying wood
   and dead leaves
   and moss from the forest floor.

The lake is devoid of noise;
   even the loons are silent.
Only the sound of gathered
   rain drops falling from
   the cabin roof
Or bouncing of tree leaves
   is to be heard.

So I sit in peace
   on the three-season porch
Leaning against the arm
   of a white wicker loveseat
And reading about the tale
   of a young motel worker
   in 1960s upstate New York
Who will at some point
   encounter a spy
   named James Bond.

written 8 August, 2013
on Lake Arbutus near Eagle River, Wisconsin

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