Umbrella Passing

Rain like vertical stair rods fall on the drenched Meadows
The Borough Loch reforms, with satellites of lochans,
The raindrops dance a jig on the puddles,
Seagulls by the score scour the grass for lunch.

Commuters hurry past underneath umbrellas of all sizes and colours
Wellington boots tramp stolidly up the path with an air of resignation,
Happy dogs splash in grassy puddles.
A young beggar sits cross legged under an umbrella at the side of the Walk
Motionless and silent, his cap ignored.

His Lordship booted, gaitered and anoraked, makes an early exit for the hills
Only to be recalled as his companion cries off: walk cancelled.
'For better, for worse, but never for lunch on a Wednesday', I think.

A rain soaked dash to the local cafe to sit and find a blip
Although a coffee will not go amiss.
Home to bake a comforting gingerbread and ignore the weather.
His Lordship ensconced behind the Door, googling 'Ark Building'

The world outside obscured behind a veil of rain while we stay dry inside,
The fortunate ones.