Bouncing as it hits the ground,
no longer rain—it has morphed 
on its sojourn from sky and cloud. 
Thick and hard it dances in the grass 
outside the window to my room. 

He thinks it is magic
but my weathered soul knows 
it’s only frozen water
hardened on its journey to earth. 
I say I can’t come see, 
because I can’t see what he does. 
I can’t see the magic right now. 

He leaves to find a better spot to watch
as the rain continues to dance.
It skips down the gables of the roof.
I know it is science but my eyes start to shed
their weary haze
and I see the magic for a minute. 
Enough time to see a glimpse of the view he takes in. 

I evacuate my self importance 
and find him, chair pulled to window, snack in hand. 
I’m too late to watch the wonder in his eyes 
but I still try, slipping outside
I sweep up the now still bits of ice 
And bring them to him. 

They melt slowly on our skin,
leaving us with small puddles that tickle our palms. 
Even though I know I will forget, 
I vow to remember, 
that he will only be four once.