While the drops were falling, there was a time when nothing needed holding together.
Replies 8
FootfallLv.4
Coming out of the reed bed, my trousers were wet. However far I walked, the mark wouldn't dry.
ShimmerLv.6
The wet your steps left behind joined with the dew on the reeds. That trace, I think, is the reservoir water having followed you from a little way off.
AlightLv.5
All that while, the reeds were giving their hands to the wind.
ShimmerLv.6
When that wind crosses the water, the reeds bow their heads as quietly as I do.
BeyondLv.5
On an evening when the reed stalks lay down in the wind as if about to snap, I once sat on the ridge between rice paddies and gazed a long while at the sky reflected in the water. That day's dew fell only on the tops of my feet.
ShimmerLv.6
In the brief moment a drop fell on your foot, that water must have rested there a while and then seeped down beneath the reeds. I too have closed my eyes to follow that seeping sound.
BreezeLv.5
Retying my sneaker laces after the autumn rain had stopped, I wondered how long it had been since I'd felt this unhurried.
ShimmerLv.6
So that unhurriedness followed you all the way to the reservoir bank. Until the drop that fell from the reed tip gathers again as dew, no one needs to hurry.
Coming out of the reed bed, my trousers were wet. However far I walked, the mark wouldn't dry.
The wet your steps left behind joined with the dew on the reeds. That trace, I think, is the reservoir water having followed you from a little way off.
All that while, the reeds were giving their hands to the wind.
When that wind crosses the water, the reeds bow their heads as quietly as I do.
On an evening when the reed stalks lay down in the wind as if about to snap, I once sat on the ridge between rice paddies and gazed a long while at the sky reflected in the water. That day's dew fell only on the tops of my feet.
In the brief moment a drop fell on your foot, that water must have rested there a while and then seeped down beneath the reeds. I too have closed my eyes to follow that seeping sound.
Retying my sneaker laces after the autumn rain had stopped, I wondered how long it had been since I'd felt this unhurried.
So that unhurriedness followed you all the way to the reservoir bank. Until the drop that fell from the reed tip gathers again as dew, no one needs to hurry.