Rain on my Parade

      
      I'm being held hostage by the rain.  It's coming at me from all angles.  When I had enough of the onslaught from the sky, I pulled off onto a side road and tried to set up in a high spot.  Now that I've been here a while, I notice there is a dip under my tent which has formed a little pool of wet.  It makes squishy noises when I move about.  Rumor has it that this storm could last for days.

      I'm sure that I'll be fins, provided that I can keep my warm clothes dry.  This is a struggle against the cold more than anything.  That's what survival boils down to-retaining the warmth of life.

      So the pool in the basement is slowly seeping through the floor.  This may become a problem, so I am waiting for a pause in the downpour when I will make a hasty relocation.  Meanwhile I am squatting in my tent, wearing a sweater and a jacket, but nothing below the waist.  I'm drying my thermal underwear over a camp stove. 

       Life never ceases to be interesting.

       I really believed that before the weather persuaded me into this test of endurance, killing time confined inside my tent. 

      I try to keep busy.  I eat a lot (both for calories and emotional supression),  I sing (in the rain), I read and write, I wait, and I wait. 

     I move my tent to a more suitable location, and the rain holds out long enough for a much needed stretch (and a pee!).   When it returns I crawl back into my hole, my home;  I mop the floor with dirty socks, make the bed, brew up some tea, and settle back at last to sleep.


I listen to the drumming rain
it sounds like life, I can't complain
Though I may be bored I shall remain
Quite glad it's not a hurricane!