God’s Big Window

On this cold fall morning, the city man has opened the fire hydrant on the corner.

I sit in the coffee shop sipping chai tea with a shot of pumpkin spice,

listening to songs about Jesus,

looking out the big window

at the water running down the street into the creek that runs along the trail where the black buggies are making their way into town.

I know it isn’t really any use to think this, but there is a part of me that longs to be within the water

glistening on the pavement

flowing away wherever gravity and the cracks tell me to go

splashing down upon the rocks

caressing the dark bodies of the brook trout darting in the shadows

past the Walmart and on into the Killbuck

to dissipate against the cattails

far away from here

where I sit

belly warm as the mug in my hand

watching water flow down the street

outside the big window.

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