the roads move like rivers where i live.
it took all day to entice me outside;
when the last of the light began to glow on the bricks i was called.
it was small rain yesterday, from morning to night, and it was small when i stood beneath it; all the best magic is small. there'd been hard news in the morning, news i'd sat with through tv movies and laundry, letting it sink in, shedding no tears. i stepped into the rain and all that changed. i began to cry.
we move forward always, even if we turn around. time clicks into the future no matter which way we face. new places await. the late mary, she of once upon a time across the street, told me when times were bad, she imagined herself on a river, floating. face to the sky. giving herself to the flow. the river moves anyway, she told me.
(road and river definitions from wikipedia)