Rain Parade

Springtime puddles peppered the

sidewalks and streets of the winter

weary city. Snow was fairly melted,

and faint misty drizzle fell through

the mildly warmer air.

The city was an orchestra of

splashes, splooshes and splishes,

as cars discovered new potholes

in the streets and sprayed the

bus riding bystanders.

Their cursing and shouts only

adding to the music of a city

longing for Spring to actually

arrive. An eagerness to shed the

bondage of winter and be re-born.

Across the street, several children,

in rain slickers and rain boots

joyously jump into the Spring

puddles, squealing with astonishment

and laughter, breaking Winter’s serious grip.

They splash and giggle, holding hands with

each other, living in the absolute moment

of splashing discovery; we forget, what with our

depth of familiarity due to age, the bliss of

a Spring puddle.

A chilling wind blows through,

a cold front attempting to deflate the

anticipated excitement of Spring,

we turn up our coat collars and bare it,

knowing the Winter Parade is nearly ended.

We’ll have our Rain Parade and splish

and splash towards the rapid rise of

May flowers, and our fondness for

Alfred Tennyson’s, “young man's fancy

lightly turns to thoughts of love.”