Many Raindrops Ago

April rain drops colder

than the chill of an icicle

in our return --

Collapsed under pastures of time

our home was toppled from its strength

creating sanctuary

for mice and other creatures --

we followed the sky in a game

peeking from under cover of masking

branches until we reached a copse

of apple trees --- home.

Pussy willows continue to struggle beside

our old creek’s muddy bank

as albums of memory

begin a catalogue of reminiscing.

Our childhood swam in what

was once a rush of current carrying us

to life’s distant journey

and we grew into city-folk

a long time ago.