Until It Gathers Again at the Reed's Tip

Retying my sneakers after the autumn rain let up, I wondered how long it had been since I'd felt this unhurried. That ease followed me all the way to the reservoir bank, and until the drop that fell from the tip of a reed gathers again as dew, it lets no one hurry. While the sound of falling drops died down, the wet on the toe of my sneaker seeped into the wind off the reservoir. Until the wet that ran between the reeds gathered again as dew, only the sound of the drops remained there. Following with my eyes the spot where a drop had fallen from a reed's tip, I suddenly remembered the streaks of rain running down a bus window in front of me. Like that place where I stood still so long, I did nothing at all at the bus stop. Lifting my eyes from the slope of wet silver grass, the streaks of rain on the bus window were flowing like the wind off the reservoir. Even while I stood at the stop, the streams of water were passing the reeds, that far along. Beyond the glass the wet seeped through and ran down at the same pace as the drop that had gathered on the toe of my sneaker. Even after the bus left the stop, the streaks left on the window were turned toward the reservoir. Until the drop that fell from the reed's tip gathered again, those streams stayed there on the glass.