Water Dream

Little bullets of water dropping from a gunflint gray sky

Begin sliding the grime and grit, built up from the crucible of summer heat,

From our busy over-scorched lives.

The hustle and bustle of existence is silently muted by the monochrome

Clouds and misty ghost figures haunting the green canopy of the bluffs.

The river lithely caresses its banks and slowly etches its way southward.

Plinks of rain ding upon the river’s glassy mirror, as a heron gracefully glides

Just above the surface, wingtips nearly splitting the reflective illusion.

Under this awning I wait for you to arrive so that we

Can wash the dust of the past from our feet.

Let us hold hands and walk together in the rain.

 

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About bgm1969

This blog is updated by a guy who’s overweight, silly, Liberal, spiritual rather than religious, infatuated with beauty and grace, musically blessed, and always changing.

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