It has stopped raining now
and the last drops drip
from the drop-laden leaves
splashing into muddy puddles.

The circles disperse in confusion
flowing surfaces textured with folds
weaving the earth into a rippled fabric
rushing murmurs mud-brown.

I step outside the house, barefoot,
the soft sludge squelching between my toes.
The two dogs follow me as I walk, making my way
to the lake, streaming with rainwater.

The evening sky melts with the clouds
reflecting in the collecting water still trees.
The gushing wetness sounding the air and,
suddenly, I am six again, overjoyed

with the mud sticking to my feet
and the floating scum curving around me.
I kick the water, laughing,
the smell of earth splish-splashing in my eyes.

I become my footprint and am washed away
running dripping into pools of memory.
The soaking sunset of my youth –
I mock myself. Night falling. I should really go back.

-Saumyananda Sahi