“Do you know," Peter asked, "why swallows build in the eaves of houses? It is to listen to the stories.” ~ J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan


this water lives in mombasa, anyway, and following the yellow brick road

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.

road is a thoroughfare, route, or way on land between two places . . .
river is a natural watercourse, usually freshwater,
flowing towards an ocean, a lake, a sea, or another river . . .

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)


  1. (((hugs)))

    beautifully written, as always.

  2. I too sat with hard news this weekend (an old school friend had died at 42). My tears came before the rain. Hugs xoxo

  3. yes, it does, it always does. we float, we change, we hang on for dear life, we float again. xoxo

  4. Beautiful as usual!

    Have a wonderful Thanksgiving...

    Noodle and crewq

  5. "all the best magic is small". Neat.


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