As I watch the winter storm unfurling, I hear from my Brazilian sister Adelia. She describes the hot and tropical rain they are experiencing in Sao Paulo. I am reminded of summer storms here in Michigan and how powerful they can be.
Below is a poem of one such storm and the feelings we had being on a tandem bike and fourteen miles from our vehicle. My husband and I were alone, exposed and the tallest item on the trail.
I purposely have the first part of the poem stretched out with a empty between sentences to mimic a leisurely pace. The last half of the poem has line after line with no extra spaces. This mimics the quicker pace of our return trip. You may not note it, but this spacing changes the pace of person’s reading with voice over.
Enjoy and think of summer for a little while.
With the Wind
On a sunny, sultry summer day,
My husband John, and I decided to ride a rails to trails.
The trailhead was the parking lot of an old abandon train station.
We unloaded the tandem, snapped on our helmets and headed North to Reed City.
The air was still and heavy with moisture.
I joked that we were creating our own rain as sweat trickled from under our helmets to drip down our faces and backs.
Setting a leisurely pace, we chatted about the growing crops, stopping to touch a wild flower, take a photo and buy ice cream.
When arriving in Reed City, the weather had taken a dramatic change.
The air felt cool and a breeze was blowing to the south.
Looking to the west, John saw a bank of heavy storm clouds blanketing the sky.
Quickly, we turned around as a clap of distant thunder was heard.
Normally, I am a slow biker.
I prefer to enjoy the ride and let my husband do most of the work.
But that day, I matched the speed and strength of John’s peddling,
as we worked to stay ahead of the storm.
Our faces were hot and sweaty,
but the cold wind on our backs cooled us
while propelling us southward.
Our conversation was limited to a phrase that could be said in a quick breath.
“ That thunder clap sounded closer.”
“Did you see that lightening strike?”
“ I don’t think we’re going to make it!”
Dodging a Jogger, we streaked into the Parking lot at full speed and in high gear.
Halting at the truck, I felt the first drops of rain hit my helmet.
Stowing the bike, we bolted for the cab, as a cascade of rain and the fireworks of the storm erupted all around us.