A torrent of rain water carries the helpless roach towards an unknown destiny. Does it need a second chance? Who am I to ask?
Glued to the pavement is a wet leaf. Picking it up, I hold it close to the roach. After three tumbles, it manages to hold onto the side of the leaf. I hoist it back to safety. It promptly... disappears.
The leaf flutters as I place it on the hedge of evergreen foliage. The pavement is patches of dry and wet. The sun sparkles through the foliage.
letting go . . .
the wind in the whistle
off my lips