Playing on the front porch in the rain,
the little sprays of rain whipping in sometimes with a little lost wind,
just about to be chilly but not yet.
The rain pouring off the roof in sheets,
down into the little rut it has made for itself over time,
between the brick underpinnings
and the camellia and azalea bushes that are as high as the floor of the porch.
Each individual board of the porch,
laid perpendicular to the house and the edge of the porch,
sagging in the middle just ever so slightly,
so that the whole effect of the floor of the porch
is like a slightly corrugated floor.
The rain is making a lake on the stones closest to the steps,
with grass as trees at the edge,
and when it stops we can get some live oak leaves
and make them little canoes,
and sail around the little lake
until in a few minutes it has gone away
into the ground around.
The rain is so loud on the tin of the roof,
and splashing into itself in the dirt
between the camellias and azaleas and the bricks of the porch,
and so we play with our little soldiers,
and one of mine just got killed,
but it's the rain that is really at play.