By Anne Williston
~ words meant for reality ~

My daughter and I walked down

to the bridge on main street, laughing

as we slipped along the sidewalk in the

dark, she cuddling her small dog to her

chest, and I leading the way, walking

swiftly, ducking the fingers of low branches

that sought to snag our hair.  We stopped

on the corner, before crossing, listening

to the loud report of fireworks. Still, we

could not see their bloom in the sky

before us. Misty rain coated our skin,

hair-raised, goose-pimpled. We laughed. 

Should we go on?  The rain began to soak

into our clothing.  The sign changed to walk;

we raced across the street, turned, and hurried

past the apartment building blocking our view

of the river. We reached the bridge

on Main Street, panting lightly. Turning,

looking down the river towards the park,

we gazed in admiration as the fireworks

continued to pepper the sky with color,

man-made thunder blasting through the rain.

My daughter’s eyes sparkled. So beautiful,

she sighed.  Delight stretched the minutes

as we watched in wordless wonder,

together in the rain.