I sit alone, drinking Margaritas,
wrapped in a blanket to keep out the cold,
as dark clouds gather over San Miguel.
The bustling streets below are empty now;
turistas shelter from the coming storm
in heated restaurants and cozy bars.
A peal of thunder silences the bells
of La Parroquīa; the world stands still
as lightning arcs across the moonless sky.
Fat drops of water parachute to earth,
then harder, faster, bouncing off the ground,
a slick curtain of rain to hide my tears.
They’re for the time we had together here.
I’m sick and tired of crying on my own,
it pleases me to watch the city weep.
San Miguel de Allende
15 June 2016
Coming Home to Story 
Dearest Geoff, I’m holding your hand, and giving you courage (Coeur) to go forward.
Thank you Eleanor… it was a gloomy night but the morning is wiser that the evening as the old Russian stories say.
You don’t cry alone Geoff – Helen and I join you very often. x
Yes, of course Joan. Thank you.