symphony of raindrops like

toddlers laughing in puddles,
a plethora of perfect circle giggles.

musical notes bursting into perfectly timed half-fireworks, meeting free-fall’s end for the first time,
song lit up by moving headlights, car horns singing their harmony.

cotton candy gumdrops waking up for the dawn,
a slow float and tumble off the potted plants in the window sill.

morning on a soft day,
a faint greeting with misty kisses and dew-drop hugs.
a quiet “I love you” from the earth that slipped in past the city.

even the darkest nights have stars

in fact, that’s when they shine even brighter

and the ones that were invisible before – this is when the world first sees them glimmer

(but don’t you know, they’ve been shining on their own all along).

we aren’t left to fend for ourselves in the dark –

each night, we are tucked in with a translucent blanket of majesty – threaded with periwinkle-navy and deep blue,

glittered with layers and layers of frosted twinkles – if your hand could reach out to touch it, you’d move the stars.

you can’t beat the air here, especially after it’s rained – dew brings you an ice-cold brew (essence of tree bark, the red kind). night mixes it with cool. nostrils try to sip in summer’s glass, but the flavor always just lingers on the tip of the tongue – taste buds singing for more.

so you lay down, cold sidewalk beneath, and dream.

and you get up – and dance with your arms held high.