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