Find a place to be at 4 p.m.
to experience the rain, more predictable in July than a Yucatecan clock. I choose shelter under an oversized green umbrella at an outdoor café, securing my table and dos cervezas. This lasts longer than a one-beer rain. Turning on like a faucet, the jungle downpour soaks summer cottons to the skin in seconds. Neither waiters nor iguanas run through these water walls. Surrounded by my round water curtain, I drink cold lagers named Montejo and Negra Leon. They pour down as easily as the deluge. In minutes, I feel warm water flowing over my sandaled feet washing off the white dust of Mayan ruins. Finished, just as I drain my second bottle, the miracle repeats tomorrow, right on time. Susan Wolbarst lives and works as a newspaper reporter in rural Gualala, California. Her writing has been published in “thewildword.com,” “pioneertownlit.com,” “The Ledge Poetry and Fiction Magazine,” “Naugatuck River Review,” “Poetry Now,” “Yolo Crow,” “Valley Voices,” “Foliate Oak,” “Eat This Poem Anthology,” “The Christian Science Monitor,” and other magazines and newspapers. She self-published one cookbook. She enjoys messing around in small boats and cooking recipes from around the world in her three cast iron pans. She has an MA in fine arts from California State University, Sacramento. Comments are closed.
|
Follow Us On Social MediaArchives
April 2023
Categories
All
Help support our literary journal...help us to support our writers.
|
Photos used under Creative Commons from Michel Hébert, brighterdaygang, aivars_k, rchdj10, dalbera