Drops From the Sky

 Drops from the roof splattered the sky into liquid glass. My hiking boots seemed small on the edge of the porch, where I sat, exhausted and watching the water. I am inside a wooden shelter built by volunteers and donors to the Audubon Society's Pittock Sanctuary Pond. The steps of the shelter, like a temple, lead into the water. This morning it is sunny, and quiet. The sound of the drops falling drown out the quiet hush of the nearby freeway. I breathe in. It is a cold morning as well, as stifle a cough. I breathe out. The clouds of mud part, and a mini- leviathan swirls and swims between the pond weed. The epiphytic chorus continues to drip and I watch the salamander hover in the sun. His tiny pink fists curl in and out. I am reminded of my niece Emily's hands when she squeezed my pinky for the first time- in, out. Skaters skip over the images, threading the clouds and weeds into the ripples. The sun is a sometimes friend. It is hard to breathe, but it feels good to be outside and slowing down. I think about what I want in my future garden. The light shifts again. The salamander is gone in a puff of brown, but the sky still remains. I listen for the next drops to fall from the roof. I breathe in.