Riding the Tide

I'm not a swimmer, but walking is not an option. When it rains all day, the water level rises on my cross-the-field commute, and my strut is replaced with strokes. Sometimes galoshes suffice. Not this time, though, when I have to pull on a pair of flippers and kick my way home.

There are no fish because this lake is temporary--I hope. The squirrels hope so, too, from their perch atop the trees. The swallows checked the forecast and turned around for four more weeks. The geese, also on route from the south, are on their way. Soon I'll have company in my one-lap trip to work, but I'll keep my distance because geese can be pretty mean. 

Dry now and under shelter, the deluge hasn't swept my house away. Yet still, it rains. Perhaps tomorrow, the foundation will have loosened, and I will awake in an ark. In that case, I won't swim to school. I'll row.