Photo Story: Sprinklers in the Rain
He set the sprinklers going the first
week he moved in, as if he didn’t believe the grass would grow otherwise, so I wondered why he kept the schedule long after the lawn became mature—until the night when I saw the rain pouring down on his sprinklers while they helicoptered inside the deluge, slicing the air with wet diamonds reaching up toward what they must remember—and I had to ask what I am to myself, to be insisted upon like that, when I know I’m not much more than weather, water entering stone, my cells evaporating like dew.
Photo credit: Greg Hirson
Loved the imagery here and the metaphor.
Thanks so much for telling me.
Lyrical flash fiction dazzles, but loose structure, vague metaphors, and excessive abstraction weaken cohesion.
Thanks for your time.