Puddle Dancing
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We ran out in the rain on purpose—
not toward shelter but toward the wet,
the puddles already forming on the path,
the best part of a summer not done yet.
No adult would have sent us—
this was our own initiative and art,
the science of the splash at full commitment,
the joy of getting soaked to the heart.
I miss the child who ran out in the rain,
who did not weigh the dampness or the cold,
who only saw the puddle as an invitation
and accepted it, full of bodied and bold.
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We ran out in the rain on purpose—
not toward shelter but toward the wet,
the puddles already forming on the path,
the best part of a summer not done yet.
No adult would have sent us—
this was our own initiative and art,
the science of the splash at full commitment,
the joy of getting soaked to the heart.
I miss the child who ran out in the rain,
who did not weigh the dampness or the cold,
who only saw the puddle as an invitation
and accepted it, full of bodied and bold.
