The water cycle

Day 30

An icicle forming above at the caves entrance slowly as water from some unseen lake had overrun and slithered the water droplets followed one after another falling just past each brother, each sister each clung and held as they fell over the mouth of the cave, holding frozen to top staring downward holding more came tumbling each over the others head until at last no more siblings came and all was still, winter reigned

days in and out each droplet remembered the blue sky, the warm succulent air, those tumbling white clouds each remembered the long falling the joy of finding each other finding a home in the lake full of life fish splashing, flowers lazily doing backstroke grass reeds waving in sober wind then one remembered the spill the cold race down the hill praying not to stop but now its prayer was different

the frozen droplet missed the sky days recycled nights and back again yet each brother and sister held firm as the last until finally one morning

the clouds that hid the sun repented each droplet looked out and remembered the orange the warm glow, the radiant sunlight each felt their bodies warm felt their tired hold release

splick splick splat

each sibling let go laying before the cave the sun rose

each dissipated floating back to the sky together


I hold back a lot of what my mind see's just because I never know what sounds like art and what sounds ill. Even in saying that I don't know what art is. What poetry really is. The words above mean something to me. They help me. But it just feels self serving.

If money is used to quantify skill – I have never made much from writing. It isn't what pays for a subscription to this blog.

Writing feels like an outlet and in that I guess it must be it's own reward

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