The familiar squeak of the kitchen tap handle sings out a happy song welcoming the awaiting water. In a rush it beats its joy against the steel basin with translucent fists in rhythm to the song; delighted to be free. Droplets bounce and fly like colorless acrobats, clinging to my shirt, begging me to join the dance. Their grasp is icy and exhilarating. Another squeak announces the end of the waltz as the tap is closed. Liquid tendrils bid their farewells as the water continues its journey down the drain. Its memory spent in a gurgle.
A River of Stones entry.