The Damp Dark Plight of Rainy Day Books


Awakened to mild rumbles of thunder and pounding rain
washed down by a steady drizzle and more downpour
coating asphalt with mirrored reflections of oily alluvial runoff
easing back into a soothing pattern of velvety rain drops
drizzling down the foliage encased wrought iron balcony rails
The old tin pot percolator downstairs groaning out a cozy plan
wafting a hot grind of Arabica imparting flavors of
of sweet mountain jasmine and dense fog
A chill works its way through the screen door
A book in waiting beckons through leaded glass of heavily carved oaken bookcase at the top of the staircase
tales of knights and maidens in forests deep in sonnet
Hope lingers in the air as I unlatch the door to Arthurian treasure
A quick joust of will, the smell of freshly brewed coffee wins the field
Disappointed, maidens retreat into deep shelves of English elm
Traitor, whispers the book—I know ye well,
Coffee, old movies of Paris boulevards and rich red wine
the damp dark plight of rainy day books

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If you want a thing done well, do it yourself.

— Napoleon