The storm cloud left taking it's bounty of precious jewels.
Puddles, like massive chests, form in small dips on my aunts property-
filled to the brim with the stuff from the sky.
I tred through those pools, the deeper dwellings warmer than the ground itself, releasing the steam of a long hot morn, the squeeze relaxed, retaining this vital source.
The ripples, the sound of my sloshing feet, echo to me of many a man's argument that we did not come where the rain has been. Just look.
Each ripple cannot be measured singularly. How it gradually grows from small to big happens in such a quick time frame.
To count each movement exactly wo