A Rainy Sunday Afternoon

April 1, 2010
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Drops drum their rhythm on the earth.
Thunder creates
a spark of anticipation.
Tiny hills form along her body,
making tiny blonde hairs stand on end.

She opens the door,
a threshold to a scene of wonder,
and breathes the heavy air.
Summer rain licks her face
bathing her with sweet enchantment.

She carefully avoids the earthworms
that have tunneled to the surface,
abandoning their dark abodes
for temporary sanctuary along the cement.

Tongue outstretched,
begging to be quenched by heaven’s gift,
she frolics in the street
pirouetting in miniature pools of bliss.

This magical moisture transforms
the mundane soil
into brown puddles of amusement

She ventures to her mother’s garden.
The soft earth gives way
surrendering a refreshing, dark ooze
that envelopes her tiny feet

The mud is irresistible
She longs to bask in its coolness
And soon she is rolling
In a sea of uprooted petunias

Her father’s thunderous voice
Yanks her from the joyful reverie
And she steps as tender as a newborn shoot from the forbidden
playground, preparing for a roaring lecture.

As water washes over his features,
a furrowed brow carved from stone
a smile finds his face,
a laugh his lungs,
and in that moment,
the rain is truly magic.

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