hot summer rain,

steam streams off side walks and the

hard concrete of a 12 by 14 front porch.

broken drain becomes Niagara falls, though

we have never seen it. pictures from

mama’s Britannica are all we need to

know this is what it must look like.

“Monsoon,” he screams and we laugh so loud

grandpa wakes up shouting, “OUTSIDE!”

never mind the rain is pouring like a

faucet. his command is a

challenge. adventurers we are, we

promise him diamonds and pan sorted gold.

rioting granma’s cabinets, we separate

colanders from their hooks and transform into

49ers in our makeshift swimsuits and rain boots.

“You are not to set one toe off that porch,”

she calls out after us. we can

barely hear her over our plans to kill the

loch ness monster once we have braved the

bering straight and eaten coconuts in our hawaiian leis.

at work with pots and buckets in hand we are

hard pressed to save our sinking ship and return

the princess to her home. it is arduous work

this adventuring and our boots are soon over

full with warm rain. Laughing, we pull at our waders and

rain showers on the watchful eye of our nanny. nikki,

a 75 pound german shepherd, refuses to come

out from under the awning. she grumbles and

we are soon laughing so loud our neighbor calls

from behind her window, “Enough.”

nikki drenched and angry is undeterred in

her duties. we never notice we have yet

to step one toe off the porch in

our hearts we have traveled the world.