Jul 29, 2014




The morning sky, like a saturated washcloth of palest blue-gray, holds back the rain.

Yet the trees are talking to each other of its immanent arrival.

All are ready.


I see a little girl, maybe 4 or so, sitting on the bottom steps of a red brick two flat and staring at the raindrops as they splish-splash into the puddle formed within the cement pavement in front of the building’s glass front door.

She stares at the drops as they hit the puddle and create concentric circles with their impact… She seems hypnotized…


Her gaze eventually wanders to the graceful bridal wreath bush near the street. It is in full bloom, though droopy from the rain, and its tiny white flowers dress the bush in swathes of delicate lace… Even wet the lace is worthy to decorate the wedding dress of a fairy princess. If you look closely, you will see some branches have been broken off, since they have already been used for that very purpose.

Now the downpour becomes even heavier and the raindrops furiously slap the street, bouncing back up and crashing into each other. The little girl looks on, still caught up in the morning scene... It is 1935.


June 29, 2013    7:47 AM

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