The following poem, Puddles, is written about a childhood memory. I grew up in Georgia, and was quite accustomed to almost daily thunderstorms during the summer months. My best childhood friend, who also was my next door neighbor, and I were almost inseparable, unless we were fighting again. I lived on the corner of a residential street, and it just so happened that this corner was a bus stop. Each day, Mr Pat, the bus driver would take his break at this corner, and each day, Mike and I would come to talk to him, fascinated by this huge coach he was allowed to drive. He would always allow us to come on board, and sit in the seats. Every once in a while, I suppose when he was feeling quite generous, he would give us a ride around the block. Little did he know that this act of kindness towards a couple of kids, would be remembered a lifetime. Thanks Mr. Pat.

Puddles

Casting stones at thieving crows
Stealing grandpa's apples.
Swift cooling winds stroke my face,
Another storm approaches.

Willow branches chasing me,
I must elude their grasp.
I lay myself at willows feet,
And peer through bending branch.

Surreal, the sight before my eyes,
Green leaves turn pale before me.
Natures breadth whips down my neck,
As moisture seals my crackled lips.

Hurry, escape the darkened skies,
Natures fury beckons.
Mine or yours this day we ponder,
Whose shelter we will take.

Voices call from what seems like miles
Insisting on our refuge
Until the erupting skies again flee to the heavens
Your windows today shall carry nose prints.

Alas, the path is clear,
Puddles run across our toes
As the sweet smell of natures bath
Erupts within my senses.

Puddles run across our toes
As we await our coach.
Perhaps another journey today,
If only we ask him, please?

Humor us, let us feel as if
You have come to carry us
To distant shores, faraway lands
If only for a moment.

Let our imaginations
Run as free as the waters.

Author ~ Paul J Haldy