There was this low spot down the dirt road that
after an April rain was legendary for
being the biggest rain puddle in all of
Isanti County.
It would fill to the brim,
spilling over into the poor neighbor's yard,
feasting on the grass-covered lawn, the path leading
into their home,
running across the span of road,
causing a spray that reached
epic levels as the water
danced on car after car
that dared to pass through.
The puddle, this utopian lake, this place
is a memory tucked in the
recesses of my mind
as I consider April rains, thunderstorms, downpours, bursts of liquid
bringing much awaited signs of Spring.
My siblings and I, mostly my annoying brothers
would crow and trot and jump and splash
in this puddle as the rains would come and the lightening would flash and the thunder would drown out all intelligible conversation, but,
that wasn't the point anyway.
Who needed to talk when all expression of emotion was communicated in the dance?
Made me want to keep reading...very well written, thinking you should write a book.
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