We paved the blocks,
he and I,
brick by brick,
carefully on the paths
that took us
to the world outside.
“It’s important that we do it
before the rain arrives”, he said.
“Mmm” I replied
half-heartedly,
thinking of the frog spawn
and tadpoles
my daughter
collected in a glass jar
last year.
“I hate when it gets muddy.
Can hardly walk without getting dirty,”
he mused
in an escalating tone of annoyance.
Memories echoed,
a young bride,
amused by the place
where fishes walked on earth
and tortoises came visiting
after the monsoons ceased.
“Keeping the compound clean
will no longer be bothersome,” he added.
The dancing grass,
the wild flowers,
the delicate wings of mayflies,
little souvenirs of existence
which I gathered every morning
after the rains
swept my mind.
We paved the blocks
he and I
brick by brick,
carefully on the paths,
drenching in sweat.
I sighed!
