There is a person inside of me who sits on the sofa like the little boy in the back-in-the-day commercial who says, “And I can’t find my socks.”
There’s also the girl who wants to pull on her wellies and stomp through the puddles, umbrella resting on her shoulder.
There’s the granddaughter who wants to shake a wet frog at her grandmother, making her jump, and the old lady gardener who wants to weed while the roots are wet, yanking their stricken whiteness so easily from their chosen home.
There’s the frog who resents being shaken, and the inchworm who wants to crawl across the underside of the wet leaves, dodging pearlized droplets of water.
And me, who wants to sit at the windowsill watching the rain run down the pane imagining all the beings who dwell inside of her.
here’s to creative synthesis . . .