Inside:
two respectable, sensible, aging hippies*
sit in quiet well-matured companionship,
reading.
Outside:
rippling rivulets of rain race
to the bottom of the window
while wind whistles and whines.
Storm Bert likes it well enough here
to stay.
*When we first moved to Ireland, I was at a neighbor's birthday party and in conversation with another neighbor, who told me that she'd seen us walking around with our backpacks and was glad to see respectable people moving in. She was pretty toasted by then, so I didn't bother to ask her about the connection between backpacks and respectability and what exactly made her think we were respectable. The following year, we were in the process of moving (via bus, so going back and forth between dwellings for a few weeks) and we met our new near neighbors (I'll call them Jack and Jill), albeit at different times. Later, Jill said that Jack told her we seemed nice and very sensible. She asked him what he meant by that and said that we seemed like aging hippies to her. I continue to find this very funny and have referred to myself as a respectable, sensible, aging hippie many times. Once another friend called me a respectable aging hippy, but I quickly corrected her. 'I am a respectable, SENSIBLE, aging hippy. I like to claim all the titles that have been bestowed upon me.' And we had a laugh.
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