A damp observation on the way to the mailbox.
Black tar and granite
Washed over by the rain
On an all day storm, late on the calendar
It runs over the pavement so swiftly
On it's way, to what end ... I don't know.
Like a cleansing of the mind
My ears hear the rush of the water
Beneath my feet,
As the streams intertwine, and mesh together
As one ... they form a pattern
Of ripples on their way
I don't know where they'll go ...
Some pipe or puddle or ditch,
I only know that I see them
With my own eyes, pointed to the ground
My head titled, deep in thought ...
Yet for a moment, distracted by the water
That runs across my path.
Though the sight isn't unpleasant,
I only wish I'd raise my head up
More often, I suppose.
And see the actions,
And inaction in my life
And any ripples I may make.
Before it's all gone away ...
Like the rain on this wet afternoon.