In the Time of Drought

Even then, it was not as we once hoped. The days were full of time that we used as though we had all the time in the world. We could let the minutes pour away into bucketfuls of hours and not have to worry that it would all one day run dry. We had rivers of years flowing past, we could dive into and swim through and out into a sun-filled valley where the bad times poured past us like springtime rains.

We did not ever think that river would dry up. We thought it would flow on past us, through our valley, forever.

Now, I walk this cracked dry riverbed alone, no longer waiting for rain that will not come again. I do not want the rains to come. Unless they come as floods to pour down and fill this empty valley from side to side, drowning all these memories of her running through thick green summer grass to dive into that river of time.

I cannot forget that boat that came one summer morning and took her away, sailing on down the river away from me. Leaving me here to watch the river dry up and die. Where the only rain that falls are a few solitary tears while I wait for the flood to come and drown me.