I remember galoshes

Knee high

A sign of fun

As we raced

On our short legs

To find the puddles

Rainstorms

Turned our worlds

Into new and messy delights

Leaping

Like so many cannonballs

To bring our feet

Full force

Into waiting puddles

Years beyond

And climates away

Galoshes are just an unfamiliar word

Garden shoes and flip flops

Rule the day

Until the downpours hit

And children stare

At filling puddles

At a loss

For what to do

They step – gingerly, carefully –

Into waiting water

Torn between shock

And fun

The ghosts

Of all of those rain slickers

And rubber boots

Echoing laughter

Down memory’s paths – Caroline A. Slee