I see more than you’d imagine in certain kinds of weather.

This one a dreary beauty day.

She walked the dirt road in her maroon coat and knit hat.

Hiking boots muddied.

Scared off a couple of whitetails.

Tipped her face to catch the rain.

Sat on her wet bench with a blanket.

Thinking her thoughts.

Eyeing the rain droplets clinging to the trees.

Branches strung with crystal drips.

Her town out there in the valley on her mind.

Keeping that nasty virus out of it.

A daughter-in-law there, lupus taking down her immune system.

A son-in-law working intensive care in Alaska.

No ventilator patients yet — but not coming home to his family till this is over.

Another son-in-law who can’t get to his job in the Arctic.

Family flung far and wide — some in hot spots.

Her spry old uncle staying off that California golf course, she hopes.

All of April she’ll be home — spring on a leash.

So much to wonder about sitting on her bench in the rain.

She didn’t notice me concealed behind the clouds.

I wanted to speak to her.

But I had to wait till the sun broke through.

I’m never free to act on my own.

It was an embarrassing show, personally speaking.

I barely flashed my colors over the valley.

Still, she saw me briefly — and took heart.

Then I got my big chance but she’d gone inside.

I could only hope she’d look again.

I moved right up on her.

Low in the trees, almost knocking on her window.

Look out, look out, I tried to shout.

Somehow she did.

I was so near, so bright, she caught what I wanted her to hear.

I know the storm, I said. I know every storm.

Now wait it out. Wait it out.

And when it’s over watch for me.

I’ll be there — where I’ve been all along.

Wait it out and watch for me.