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Mrs. Brightwater
She fell from the sky.
But this in fact, was not her first time.
I often see her by my elementary schoolyard, or sometimes even by my family farm.
She does not speak, nor does she have emotion. Yet something about her makes me smile. She's beautiful, she sparkles in the sunlight, and yes- she's a bit peculiar, but even then, she never loses her shine.
I can't possibly talk to her, nor can I know her name, so what do I call her?
Mrs. Brightwater, the angel who comes from heaven.
The sun shines brighter than ever, the birds sing their melodies, that's when Mrs. Brightwater comes to visit. Falling from the sky every single time.
But the thing is, once she stops falling, she vanishes.
Almost as if she were never there.
Was it just a fantasy? A dream?
But she always comes back, reassuring me that it wasn’t.
I miss her when she’s gone, just like summer in the wintertime.
Yet when she comes, I can hardly take the time to relish her stay, because she leaves shortly after.
It's honestly puzzling and gives me frustration each time I think about it.
Where does she go after falling? Why does she never stay?
I stand by the window, gazing at Mrs. Brightwater and her lovely gracefulness.
She can even make the trees dance with the wind, make the sun reflect off of thin air, it's magical.
My eyes lock on her as she falls from the sky, I unnoticing place my hands against the window sill, leaning in.
All my attention is drawn to this lady when she crashes straight into the ground.
“Beautiful, no?” Father approaches from behind. I nod my head, my eyes still fixed on her.
“When I was your age, I thought it was the most fascinating thing in the world.”
“Your mother reminded me of it.” He speaks.
I don’t look at father, however, I can somehow feel his sentiments filling the living room.
I look down, and then at him. “It's okay father…” I smile.
“I’m sure your mother is in a better place.”
He walks over and joins me by the window.
“What's her real name?” I ask, pointing at Mrs. Brightwater in hope that he has the answer I'm looking for.
But instead, he just laughs and says, “Silly,” father places his hand on my shoulder,
“That's called a sunshower.”
© joelleviray
But this in fact, was not her first time.
I often see her by my elementary schoolyard, or sometimes even by my family farm.
She does not speak, nor does she have emotion. Yet something about her makes me smile. She's beautiful, she sparkles in the sunlight, and yes- she's a bit peculiar, but even then, she never loses her shine.
I can't possibly talk to her, nor can I know her name, so what do I call her?
Mrs. Brightwater, the angel who comes from heaven.
The sun shines brighter than ever, the birds sing their melodies, that's when Mrs. Brightwater comes to visit. Falling from the sky every single time.
But the thing is, once she stops falling, she vanishes.
Almost as if she were never there.
Was it just a fantasy? A dream?
But she always comes back, reassuring me that it wasn’t.
I miss her when she’s gone, just like summer in the wintertime.
Yet when she comes, I can hardly take the time to relish her stay, because she leaves shortly after.
It's honestly puzzling and gives me frustration each time I think about it.
Where does she go after falling? Why does she never stay?
I stand by the window, gazing at Mrs. Brightwater and her lovely gracefulness.
She can even make the trees dance with the wind, make the sun reflect off of thin air, it's magical.
My eyes lock on her as she falls from the sky, I unnoticing place my hands against the window sill, leaning in.
All my attention is drawn to this lady when she crashes straight into the ground.
“Beautiful, no?” Father approaches from behind. I nod my head, my eyes still fixed on her.
“When I was your age, I thought it was the most fascinating thing in the world.”
“Your mother reminded me of it.” He speaks.
I don’t look at father, however, I can somehow feel his sentiments filling the living room.
I look down, and then at him. “It's okay father…” I smile.
“I’m sure your mother is in a better place.”
He walks over and joins me by the window.
“What's her real name?” I ask, pointing at Mrs. Brightwater in hope that he has the answer I'm looking for.
But instead, he just laughs and says, “Silly,” father places his hand on my shoulder,
“That's called a sunshower.”
© joelleviray
