rejuvenation.

Life retreats
as the gentle patter
  intensifies,
speckling the porch
          and sinking into the dry, cracked earth.


I slip outside,
          closing the door on the hectic world inside-
and the clock that ticks so loudly I can’t hear the roses growing.


Bare feet pad across the cold, hard concrete,
          and find their home in the woven grass
that burst from the dirt like vibrant green fireworks
when the snow finally thawed.


I lift my face to the silver clouds and exhale;
        from my lips spring melodies that I had forgotten,
ascending like moths into the heavens,
                          noiselessly.


The cold drops strike my skin,
                            smoothly, almost softly,
              trickling down my face and soaking my clothes-
suddenly, I wake up,
        and realize I’m still alive.


The grass tickles my ankles,
        and happy toes wriggle in the mud like worms.
The smells, the sounds, the sights-
              swarming sensations,
plunging into my veins like a breath of fresh air-
                                like a drug-
        until I’m completely intoxicated.


Instinctively, feet begin to dance-
        the clumsy body follows,
            jerking and spinning and leaping-
droplets fly with each movement,
    and I seem to cast off years as well.


Finally, my limbs grow weary,
    and I too retreat into the house-
            sopping wet, laughing giddily-
      to return, smiling secretively, to the daily grind.