Wednesday, September 22, 2004

Daydreams of Puddles

Most people get Spring fever;
most people gaze at the fresh sun
and begin daydreaming
of ice cream and puppies.

I'm not most people.

Water cascades past the window,
mingling with leaves -
I smell the musty pages
of twenty-five copies of "Davita's Harp."

I can't focus.

I'm standing on a hillside
with Marianne Dashwood;
I'm jumping in puddles,
muddy from head to toe.

I twirl. A wet twirler.

Books. Tin roofs.
Jane Austin. Coffee.
Splashing. Wet. Wet. Wet.

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