I'm giving myself permission not to look outside right now,
where the wind is howling around the cabin,
black clouds are blowing past,
and the lake's dark surface is whipped into whitecaps.

No, nursing a sunburn and a slight headache
from yesterday's adventure,
I lie on my bed under a quilt
and just glance out the window
every now and again.
                                     I can hear small boats
banging against the nearby dock
with some urgency,
but my novel is within reach,
and in a moment I will be in a small English village
with the retired major, a widower,
and the Pakistani shopkeeper, whose husband has recently died.

What a relief to turn away
from the demands of this fierce afternoon,
and immerse myself instead
in the developing friendship of these two characters
in this far-off place, where things seem to be unfolding
just as they should, and every difficulty
is accompanied by a good strong cup of tea.

© by Barbara Bloom.
Used with the author's permission.