Dry Town

Rain was hitting the pavement, for once, in this usually dry town.  I opened my bedroom window to listen closer—it was 4:00am, and I couldn’t wait to jump back into bed, fall asleep to the sound of the rain.  It was like music to my ears.

I dreamt of skipping rocks across the rushing Guadalupe River and jumping in puddles all down Santa Clara St—looking up at the sky with my arms stretched wide, and tongue dangling around searching for rain drops.

The wind gusts whistled through narrow city corridors like a sharp breath through puckered lips—the yellow, red and green leaves danced up and down the streets.  I danced too.

Your little hand held my hand and we skipped along, laughing, singing and enjoying the brief moments where all is put aside except for that exact point in time.  Not a care in the world—not a worry to ponder…just you, me and that moment.

I’m not certain what I’ll remember when I’m old, shriveled and forgetful—but if I were a betting man, I’d bet that memories like these are the memories that will put a smile on my face for a lifetime.

I pray that you smile too.

With me.

For as long as we’re able.

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