Sweet summer Rec

Ten pence apple pie. An icecream apiece;
sticky sweet fingers and chocolate cold tongues.
Tarmac-hot air swirls around our bare arms.
Park sat on cricket mat. Watch them boys stare;
a football kicked high and six pack showed off.
The first drops of rain land on open palms.

The Rain Children.

With blue fingers, one small hand plucks at the vessel passing below its bed and tears at its edge. The ragged fingernails close tight around the tattered scrap and three pairs of liquid eyes watch the drop of water as it trickles from between the thin fingers and rolls, flashing, through the air.
Delight flicks them awake and they tumble from their beds, scrambling over each other in their hurry. Small eyes alight with mischief, small bodies tight with anticipation, small mouths wide with excitement. They land with soft thuds on the swollen body and roll and stumble over the hills and dips and scream with elation as the heavy cotton yields beneath them and the water droplets collect and fall, one by one by one. Their laughter wakes others who jumble to join them in a disarray of skinny bodies and translucent limbs. Bare feet pound the heavy mass below them. Eager fingers squeeze at the hunched edges. Wide eyes follow the round transparent diamonds as they seep from the soaked fabric and drop to the ground far below.
The wind teases the crooked curls and fly away locks as the pointed faces peer over the sides and giggle with glee. With sparkling laughter of ocean spray, with climbing cries of seagull joy, with butterfly chuckles of morning springs they voice their ecstasy.
Down below, the world is drenched. Heavy droplets thud against the concrete and smack at the dripping leaves. Miniature waves ripple across broken surfaces. Cracks and crevices become cups for the thirsty to sip from, overspilling their crystal wine to the dark earth.
Dilated irises of morning dew blink and crease and smile as the world drinks it's fill. The sound of clapping hands is hidden in the rattle of the raindrops against tiles. The children dance in their sodden rapture as the bodies below scurry to hide and cower and cover from the wet.

One being's delight is another being's depression. At times.

Rainbow

All I can think to say is thank you. Just look at all that beauty. In a second of magic, the dreary, grey street is transformed.
Walking along in a cocoon of quick notes and harsh voices, deaf to the people marching by, and around me the trees suddenly burst into flames. They send flat, paper-like sparks swinging lazily towards the ground. At my feet, the tarmac's black gown glitters, it's burnt orange and bright green accessories complementing it's attire with surprising competence. Remind me to send my regards to the designer. Up above, nestling softly on grey cashmere, the cotton scarf shimmers with gleeful translucence. The wand that started the spell; the needle that embroidered the detail; the paintbrush that finished the picture.
I glance up at it and feel the smile spread across my face. It opens my eyes, soaks my head with colour and places a bright filter over my pupils. I look down at the street. The rain brushes against my cheeks as the sun pulls the clouds further apart to gaze down in surprise on the sudden beauty.
And all I can think to say is thank you. Just look at all that colour. In a second of magic, the dreary, grey street is... transformed.