Metanoia

Fireworks in the Rain

         Fireworks in the Rain

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.