The October skies surprised us
with a storm
as we worked the garden,
harvesting the last of summer.
We sprinted across the yard laughing,
ducked into the barn
that had more leaks than Langley,
cold rain finding us anyway.
As we huddled inside the wooden shelter,
daylight snuffed out by storm clouds,
a waterfall of electricity crackled around us
like flash photography.
The horses
stirred, floorboards
creaked, wind
rattled stalls
as we stood side by side,
soaked and dripping.

I felt you shiver and
covered you with my jacket.
You squeezed my hand.
I let the moment be itself.
It was a lottery loving you.
Emotions flew, suspended,
bounced
like airblown ping pong balls
numbered and
hovering.

Unexpectedly, you turned to me.
I couldn’t read your eyes -
dark like the darkness.
You kissed rainwater
from my face,
ran your fingers through my hair,
brushing it from my forehead.
I lifted you into another kiss,
your legs wrapped around my waist.
Kicking
open the barn door,
I darted
toward the house.
More laughter as I ran,
your urgent kisses
on my neck and shoulders,
redemption under the rain.
We tumbled inside the foyer
onto the floor
and stayed there,
warmly, wetly embraced.

That day I held the winning ticket.

© Laura DeHart Young