139: Footsteps in the Rain

Rain rumbles down. Soft, like a continuous shower,

it drifts across the lake and turns the clear glass

into rumpled stucco, then fades

the hills into a lowly hanging fog.

Woodland creatures have long-since sought the cover

of ferns and holes and mushroom stools,

and even fish have found their shelter

between the reeds along the lake.

The mist rises from the banks.

A broad-brimmed hat floats between the branches,

droplets dripping from the brim

into the grey-streaked beard of the curly-haired wanderer.

He pauses, leaning on a crooked staff gone grey by wear,

then trudges on into the rain.

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Written by: Katrine Hjulstad

Instagram: @katrinehjulstad

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Publisher's note: Please note that all poetry published with Eudaemonia Records has been seen by our editors, and that the editors have suggested revisions where they see fit, but we believe that it is ultimately the writer's decision to accept or reject any suggestions and take no responsibility for which suggestions they accept or reject.