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Little Running Horse is a wonder, weather, warning dog,
a premier forecaster, of precipitation and precarious wind.
At the first canine, empirical sign or sensation of pending rain,
be it smell, sound, or taste in the air, she hides in the bathtub,
behind the blue sky, palm tree shower curtain.
Stem to stern, black on white, one tub-full of dog.
Soon air dims dark, to dark-gray coolness.
Then the orchestral like tuning begins - wind.... oboe, flutes,
piccolos,  distant thunder....  cellos, trombones, drums,
lightning.... cymbals and violins, and suddenly.... rain, rain,
a wall of falling to lullaby rain, a storming concert,
wind and water, pianississimo to fortississimo.
Onyx declines to attend. I love a front row, window seat.

One night, while visiting, my mom woke and walked
half asleep, down the dim dragon-fly night light lit hall,
to the bathroom.  As soon as she sat on the toilet,
strange sounds stirred from behind
the blue sky, palm tree shower curtain.
Something moved, shifted, and sighed in the bathtub.
My mom laughed telling me between sips of tea,
and thunder and lightening that night, after I woke too...
how she hesitantly, peeked behind the curtain wondering...
wondering... what in the world?... and... I must be dreaming.
Stem to stern, black on white, one tub full of sleepy dog.
Wide awake, my mom walked back down the dim,
dragon-lit night light lit hall, past the bed room where
my dad was sleeping and into the kitchen when the concert began.
It rained, rained, a torrent of tapping, pounding, roaring, soaring,
whirling, swirling, water and wind the rest of the night and
for the next two days.