Walking around the park,
hearing the rain falling
on my umbrella,
reminiscent of popping popcorn.
Book in hand –
electronic –
definitely unwise.
A boy, with his grandpa,
chasing the puddles,
one after another.
Splash!
Splash!
Splash!
The boy’s not laughing,
nor is he smiling;
he doesn’t look to be enjoying himself,
but the puddles are there to be jumped in.
That’s their purpose,
surely.
He bends over,
running his small hands through them,
until some of them are nearly emptied
of their source.
His grandpa looks on,
not smiling
nor is he laughing,
but he doesn’t stop the boy
from allowing the puddles
to fulfil their purpose;
he doesn’t stop the boy
from getting his clothes wet;
he doesn’t hurry the boy
to finish playing.
Those memories of being a boy,
in the rain,
were flooding back,
when all he wanted to do
was splash.
*
Thanks for reading.
Blessings.
Gavin