Puddles

Photo by Kim Dowson

Glow fades as the grey comes.

Ambitiously making its way into the hours.

Dulling any perception of beauty as it consumes all.

Declining into dim light.

The discomforts of a dulled, tired mind.

Willed by ashes of an afternoon sleep to preserve the remains.

Tempted by the outside.

Its air sweetened with the fresh scent of fern and cedar.

Dancing on the mist, it caresses my lips as I open the door to taste it.

It calls me.

Luring me in with the sound of an anticipated rain.

I prepare my dance with no care for spectators.

They may only join me.

The mist gathers and beads.

Steadily washing over me as each drop grows.

Falling to my feet before disappearing into the earth.

Heavier the fall.

Discomfort fades and is replaced by profound joy.

A respect for the simplicity of such beauty.

To watch the trees dance as they bathe, my youth returns.

Pools fill and ripple, just big enough for two feet.

Curiosity cannot be denied, it’s all or nothing.

And as I step into the pool to splash in all its distinction.

I feel it creep up my legs.

And I realize, I’m not wearing pants.