A sure sign that spring is a thing
is the proliferation
of puddles.
One such puddle on our street
has visions of being a pond
or even a lake. With a name.
We’ve been gingerly skirting it,
but today I encountered
a mom and son
wading, wandering right through it,
holding hands. Smiling.
“We just wanted to try our
rubber boots.”
Her explanation, sheepish.
As if being caught enjoying
spring is a thing
of shame.
