It’s pouring rain, the kind
we walked as kids, I know
or we wouldn’t remember
rivers from gutters, drops
splashing into small ponds
on roads, sidewalks we slosh
through, soaked to the bone,
exhilarated, giving into wet
drenched through to skin,
scent of loamy soil, worms,
not yet petrichor, earthy joy
of summer shower on a Tuesday
in June when an hour walk
stretches, stopping time but
keeping pace without umbrella,
holding hands slippery, connected,
us, our dog on leash, a turtle
who lost his way we return
to pond, then watch as it crawls
its way back up glistening asphalt,
frustrated our act thwarted his efforts
kinda rain day my gardens absorb
with glee and my heart soars
with nostalgia, familiar
creek rising afternoon storm