Rain Under Streetlight

Freedom Hour

Her feet move fast,
As she rips through the trees,
Such a familiar place to her,
Unknown to me,
This world to keep...
I stumble after her,
The hill is steep,
Eyes watching the blurring ground,
Laughter echoing through the trees.

How things feel so light,
Her hair flies behind her,
My own breath fast with my quick feet,
I catch her by the waist
And pull her to me,
She shrieks,
Tumbling to the ground,
I fall too,
And look up to see him frown.
She grins,
A wild grin,
Crazed, for a moment,
And our laughter is lost in the wind's hushed fingers.

There's a stream,
Young,
Flowing at a rather fast pace,
Looking at the bottom,
She runs across it,
And I stop,
Blue eyes adjusting the the way the light hits,
Pupils blown wide,
I can imagine the way the leaves would fall,
Soon,
Shriveled and red, haunting crimson.
Even the starved carcass of the deer in the winter,
Glass eyes winking,
Searching for green buds under the tranquil snow,
This stream would freeze over,
Silent,
Sweet,
Sad,
All at once.

He come up behind me
And I take off after her,
Everything seeming almost too brightly coloured,
Too sharp,
The wind sweeps across the valley I stand in,
The others gathered at the top.

I run to join them,
I am not the last to arrive,
I smile,
My lips curling at the edges,
And our breaths tangle together,
As we watch the city below our feet,
With devastating simplicity we speak...
For it is the long awaited freedom hour.