water sculptures

The tiny tongue poking out to say hello.
The tear sliding down a puffy cheek.
The fake frown that’s really a smile but you want to pretend it’s a frown.
The shake your body makes when it’s excited.

The stare when you’re incensed — thanks, Mom.
The “ugh” sound when it isn’t right.

The feeling of it slipping through your fingers. You tried so hard to hold it.
The knowledge of being *this* close to grasping it.
Water is so hard to deal with.
Most beautiful when flowing, but most manageable when contained.

The best was children in the woods, and the seeming that every other sentence was discovering something new in common.
Currents converging.
The worst was adults — but not even cliché mid-divorce adults, adults that are holding on because neither wants to admit defeat.
Rocks dislodging in their hands.

I don’t know if there was a definitive right or wrong. I used to. Now I’m not so sure. There are lessons and stepping stones for damn sure. Some steps are easy and get you closer. Some steps take you farther from your goal across. Sometimes your feet get wet. Sometimes you don’t care and you let yourself wade knee-deep, thigh-deep, waist-deep?
…what’s a good journey without _____________________________?

That’s a good journey.