It’s nearing the end of the 4th. The sky is slowly dimming and anticipation for the fireworks grows stronger every hour. Raindrops cover my bike and the potholes on Grandpa’s Farm road have filled with water. The small collections of precipitation are measurable indicators of the incredible day that had just occurred: each drop passing though a moment and settling before seeping into the ground, our experience, histories and memories.
No comments:
Post a Comment