I purposefully splash in puddles when it rains. It’s fun, it’s freeing. I do it more than once, sometimes I don’t even wear my wellies or mudders. It’s best when you try it in barefeet and it’s always the perfect way to spend a rainy day.
The puddle splashed up as the bike tire rolled through, sending flickers of mud up the white t-shirt back. He hardly noticed the dirt flying through the air, flicking his face. He smiled, and that smile was never ruined by the dark smear on his chin. He smiled and it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen before in my life, despite all the dirt on the ground, the grey grey clouds overhead, and the unbelievable quirkiness of the entire situation.
he guided me around the puddle as we began the small trek back to from the cave. “I really want us to have the same last name,” he said. And I blushed, excited and ready to jump out of my skin. “At this point if there’s anyone out there I can love any more I don’t even want to find out because I wouldn’t be able to handle anything that’s more than what I feel right now.”
The murky water lay before me, a barrier I couldn’t cross. I told myself it was only a puddle, but maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was the entrance to another world. Maybe I wouldn’t be me when I made it to the otherside. I took a deep breath and stepped through the puddle. Seconds later I was on the otherside, same as always. It was only a fantasy that would never be fulfilled.
My wellingtons splashed through the puddle and I was glad that it was no longer raining. Ahead a rainbow shone and I regretted not bringing my camera with me, today of all days.
flitting through the rain with a umbrella and peering at my reflection and imagining another world. who lives there? is there another me down there, staring at that puddle, staring at me? all a muddle.
I stepped into her room. Her walls are covered with colors and words and art. She was lost in her world, her world. I walked in and watched her with the utmost care and quiet. I sat down on her bed and ended up sitting in a puddle of blue paint. I didn’t mean to but her reverie was broken, the moment lost.
the rain is falling
down
as i walk through
the streets
through puddles
your hand in mine
no umbrella
you stop me
and pull me closer
your lips brush mine
I smile lightly
then we keep walking
down the middle
of the street
through puddles
summer love.
Undone by a puddle. A few drops of water spashed on the ground. Who could of thought that such a thing could ruin a dress. Not just any dress either. THE Dress. The dress for her cousin’s wedding. The dress that she had to wear, now ruined.
And it was then I discovered how much of a puddle my life had become. I know what you’re thinking: what took you so long? Well it just so happens that alcohol can remain an active influence on your brain, days after you’ve stopped indulging. So it was only a week of sobriety that helped hold my eyelids open to the mess I’d made of myself.
I’ve got my rainboots on. Life rains on me. And it always feels good. Just as long as I’ve got my rainboots. I’ve never loved anything as I’ve loved this feeling of dancing in puddles of secrets.
She lay in a puddle of her own scarlet blood, pooling on the floor around her. He threw himself next to her, onto his knees, and ran his fingers gently over the thick, oozing slit from which her life’s liquid seeped. A bit of the blood was pushed away and he saw how truly deep it was. He pushed the handle of the knife out of the girl’s limp hand, which he grasped in his own.
A beautiful suicide, just because of one slipped word.
My boots weren’t very high up on my calves, but I didn’t care. I just danced forward and began to sing out “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine..!” as I pitched my feet forward, slamming them into the puddle. Water splashed everywhere, especially up on me, but I didn’t care. I just laughed.
the puddles on this woozy spring evening spread the streets like land mines beneath the wheat field, ready to be descended upon and resulting in a never ending explosion of disintegration. though building the risk of elimination, without these puddles there would be no need for self analysis of the past, present, and potential future. without these puddles there would be no need to dream of heavenly things falling from the sky, just as lights fall from windows panes beneath the heavy downfall of rain.
let these lights tumble down discreetly, resulting in an alluring mess of dewy cities.
I laughed and jumped from puddle to puddle, as he smiled at my foolishness. I turned and caught his blue eyes, the rain still dripped from his auburn hair, this is one of those time I wished would last forever.
Puddles are little pockets of rainbows and mirrors. I remember a very powerful sentence from an internet person who said, in regards to Noah’s Arc, “there should’ve been rainbows all over the damn place.” It was the water droplets that made him lose his faith, and I’m proud water has that role.
YAY! it’s raining it’s pouring the old man is snoring, he went to bed and bumped his head and woke up in the morning!!! … i just love the sound of rain as it slowly pours drop by drop. SPLASH! the puddle is spread all over the place:) o how i love splashing in puddles<3
I cried for so long, that my life was a puddle and I was drowning in it. Running after my future, trying to catch up. I tripped and fell, my tears drowning me in the way an unconscious person can drown in a puddle.
I pushed off of the sidewalk, landing with both feet in the puddle. The water splashed out, spraying everyone with last night’s rain. I grinned and kept walking. The water had soaked through to my socks, but I was almost home anyway
The small child jumped in the muddy puddle, dirtying her brand new red boots. The water splashed all around her, and she giggled softly. This was what she loved about the rain, the puddles it left behind for her to jump and laugh and play in. Sure, sunny days were nice but the little girl loved rainy days best simply for that one reason. The puddles it left behind.
Nothing like running in the rain, and splashing as it pours.
Kissing in the cold water, while all the puddles form.
Making you smile for no apparent reason, but yet spring is not my favorite season.
The lovely new puppy had left a fresh puddle on the kitchen floor. Mongrol. It was wet, yellow and warm to the feet. Where there’s liquid there’s always sometihng more solid lurking and sure enough I trod in that too. I told him a kitten would have been so much easier. All you need is some litter and they are pretty much self-cleaning. Dogs are such hard work except when they eat their own sick. Disgusting. It’s true, I’m never going to be a fan. Velvet eyes or not. They all have dog breath – even the baby ones.
To you it may be just a puddle, but to those whose imaginations run wild it could the ocean that a Captain of a mighty vessel uses to sail the calm sea.
I remember stepping in dirty water puddles when I was a young child. Splashing my feet, this way and that. Cherishing my moments in the cloudburst of rain.
I splashed in its centre to usher some replication, a slight termination yet a full capacity for derivation. So…why didn’t I turn? Leave that puddle and instead learn. Simple: I favoured destruction in my youth, a simple change applied by desire to see things shudder at my power, do not presume to label me uncouth! I am what I am, yet I wonder who am I? I try to determine form from shape in fragmented glass, ripples calm so I look. I remembered eight separate images; lying in the puddles are me – separated eight times – from conqueror to author of a book. Which then, should be took? Taken I mean…present to past, confusion with literation, where am I? Where have I been? Why, and where, and how does my attention now careen?
If it had been a better day, Astor might have done it. He might have gone inexplicably running ahead of Tobias, and then the moment the phoenix was close enough to ask what he was doing Astor might have jumped straight into that huge, perfect puddle. It would only have stung a little – hell, it might not have even hit him at all – but today Astor knew better.
puddle of mud, anyone remember that band? they were like a knock off of nickleback, before nickleback became a huge internet joke. they were pretty shitty to tell you the truth, not very original and not very good musicians. they had one single that would always get in my head, she fucking hates me or something like that. shit band indeed.
Bricks are only as tough as the person who throws them, makes them, molds them into their shape, and since rarely do people commit to all of the three, bricks are mostly confused, drip and dissolve into mortar on the ground, gray and cold as a Tuesday morning on the Appalachians.
what springs to mind, when i hear that word, is childhood memories of wellington boots and long plastic coats, holding the hand offered as i crash through countless pools of mud and rain, squealing when the splashes hit my legs covered by polka dotted tights. happier times, when the only thing i had to worry about was whether the faeries could get out if they fell into the abyss of murky water.
puddles are full of rain and water. They are so so beautiful. Running in them, jumping in them. When I was a kid, I use to jump in puddles all the time. Without a care in the world. Now, well, now I don’t jump in puddles anymore. It has more to do with the fact that I don’t want to get my socks wet with puddle water. Puddle water on the feet can make for a miserable day. Although, I do have a solution. Jump in puddles naked!
Looking at the note, Jensen’s eyes past to the floor where he noticed a place where a small dark puddle of some liquid had formed. He absentmindedly scuffed at it with his shoe only to find that it had not hardened, but was the consistency of molasses.
the puddle is a big as the ocean. One can only see the ripples of the water and the sun rays shining across. I love the puddle because i imagine it as little world of it’s own and many living creatures enjoying their life in that
I purposefully splash in puddles when it rains. It’s fun, it’s freeing. I do it more than once, sometimes I don’t even wear my wellies or mudders. It’s best when you try it in barefeet and it’s always the perfect way to spend a rainy day.
The puddle splashed up as the bike tire rolled through, sending flickers of mud up the white t-shirt back. He hardly noticed the dirt flying through the air, flicking his face. He smiled, and that smile was never ruined by the dark smear on his chin. He smiled and it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen before in my life, despite all the dirt on the ground, the grey grey clouds overhead, and the unbelievable quirkiness of the entire situation.
puddles of pee
puddles of rain
puddles of a microwaved brain
puddles of poop?
no,
poop should never be puddley.
puddles of tears
and
puddles of love.
…
he guided me around the puddle as we began the small trek back to from the cave. “I really want us to have the same last name,” he said. And I blushed, excited and ready to jump out of my skin. “At this point if there’s anyone out there I can love any more I don’t even want to find out because I wouldn’t be able to handle anything that’s more than what I feel right now.”
The murky water lay before me, a barrier I couldn’t cross. I told myself it was only a puddle, but maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was the entrance to another world. Maybe I wouldn’t be me when I made it to the otherside. I took a deep breath and stepped through the puddle. Seconds later I was on the otherside, same as always. It was only a fantasy that would never be fulfilled.
My wellingtons splashed through the puddle and I was glad that it was no longer raining. Ahead a rainbow shone and I regretted not bringing my camera with me, today of all days.
flitting through the rain with a umbrella and peering at my reflection and imagining another world. who lives there? is there another me down there, staring at that puddle, staring at me? all a muddle.
I stepped into her room. Her walls are covered with colors and words and art. She was lost in her world, her world. I walked in and watched her with the utmost care and quiet. I sat down on her bed and ended up sitting in a puddle of blue paint. I didn’t mean to but her reverie was broken, the moment lost.
the rain is falling
down
as i walk through
the streets
through puddles
your hand in mine
no umbrella
you stop me
and pull me closer
your lips brush mine
I smile lightly
then we keep walking
down the middle
of the street
through puddles
summer love.
Undone by a puddle. A few drops of water spashed on the ground. Who could of thought that such a thing could ruin a dress. Not just any dress either. THE Dress. The dress for her cousin’s wedding. The dress that she had to wear, now ruined.
And it was then I discovered how much of a puddle my life had become. I know what you’re thinking: what took you so long? Well it just so happens that alcohol can remain an active influence on your brain, days after you’ve stopped indulging. So it was only a week of sobriety that helped hold my eyelids open to the mess I’d made of myself.
I’ve got my rainboots on. Life rains on me. And it always feels good. Just as long as I’ve got my rainboots. I’ve never loved anything as I’ve loved this feeling of dancing in puddles of secrets.
“Danny, what are you doing?”
“Jumping.”
“Can’t you see that puddle??
“I don’t know.”
Another, more somber view:
She lay in a puddle of her own scarlet blood, pooling on the floor around her. He threw himself next to her, onto his knees, and ran his fingers gently over the thick, oozing slit from which her life’s liquid seeped. A bit of the blood was pushed away and he saw how truly deep it was. He pushed the handle of the knife out of the girl’s limp hand, which he grasped in his own.
A beautiful suicide, just because of one slipped word.
My boots weren’t very high up on my calves, but I didn’t care. I just danced forward and began to sing out “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine..!” as I pitched my feet forward, slamming them into the puddle. Water splashed everywhere, especially up on me, but I didn’t care. I just laughed.
the puddles on this woozy spring evening spread the streets like land mines beneath the wheat field, ready to be descended upon and resulting in a never ending explosion of disintegration. though building the risk of elimination, without these puddles there would be no need for self analysis of the past, present, and potential future. without these puddles there would be no need to dream of heavenly things falling from the sky, just as lights fall from windows panes beneath the heavy downfall of rain.
let these lights tumble down discreetly, resulting in an alluring mess of dewy cities.
I laughed and jumped from puddle to puddle, as he smiled at my foolishness. I turned and caught his blue eyes, the rain still dripped from his auburn hair, this is one of those time I wished would last forever.
water rain splashing rainbow lil boys and gurls jumping drizzle storm falling some one sliiping
water rain splashing rainbow lil boys and gurls jumping drizzle storm falling water some one sliiping
Puddles are little pockets of rainbows and mirrors. I remember a very powerful sentence from an internet person who said, in regards to Noah’s Arc, “there should’ve been rainbows all over the damn place.” It was the water droplets that made him lose his faith, and I’m proud water has that role.
YAY! it’s raining it’s pouring the old man is snoring, he went to bed and bumped his head and woke up in the morning!!! … i just love the sound of rain as it slowly pours drop by drop. SPLASH! the puddle is spread all over the place:) o how i love splashing in puddles<3
I cried for so long, that my life was a puddle and I was drowning in it. Running after my future, trying to catch up. I tripped and fell, my tears drowning me in the way an unconscious person can drown in a puddle.
I pushed off of the sidewalk, landing with both feet in the puddle. The water splashed out, spraying everyone with last night’s rain. I grinned and kept walking. The water had soaked through to my socks, but I was almost home anyway
The small child jumped in the muddy puddle, dirtying her brand new red boots. The water splashed all around her, and she giggled softly. This was what she loved about the rain, the puddles it left behind for her to jump and laugh and play in. Sure, sunny days were nice but the little girl loved rainy days best simply for that one reason. The puddles it left behind.
i stood in a puddle of what i thought was rain water, but the smell was kind of strange, turns out i was standing in a puddle of white wine
Gemima Puddle Duck. She was cute duck that waddled and swished her tail. She really liked puddles, especially the muddy ones. Cute little puddle duck.
Nothing like running in the rain, and splashing as it pours.
Kissing in the cold water, while all the puddles form.
Making you smile for no apparent reason, but yet spring is not my favorite season.
The lovely new puppy had left a fresh puddle on the kitchen floor. Mongrol. It was wet, yellow and warm to the feet. Where there’s liquid there’s always sometihng more solid lurking and sure enough I trod in that too. I told him a kitten would have been so much easier. All you need is some litter and they are pretty much self-cleaning. Dogs are such hard work except when they eat their own sick. Disgusting. It’s true, I’m never going to be a fan. Velvet eyes or not. They all have dog breath – even the baby ones.
To you it may be just a puddle, but to those whose imaginations run wild it could the ocean that a Captain of a mighty vessel uses to sail the calm sea.
I remember stepping in dirty water puddles when I was a young child. Splashing my feet, this way and that. Cherishing my moments in the cloudburst of rain.
splish splash
her jeans were soaked. up to her midcalf.
she didn’t care.
he was jumping around with her.
She was walking down the cobblestone street and was about to step over a puddle, when she spied a gem on the bottom peeking up at her.
I splashed in its centre to usher some replication, a slight termination yet a full capacity for derivation. So…why didn’t I turn? Leave that puddle and instead learn. Simple: I favoured destruction in my youth, a simple change applied by desire to see things shudder at my power, do not presume to label me uncouth! I am what I am, yet I wonder who am I? I try to determine form from shape in fragmented glass, ripples calm so I look. I remembered eight separate images; lying in the puddles are me – separated eight times – from conqueror to author of a book. Which then, should be took? Taken I mean…present to past, confusion with literation, where am I? Where have I been? Why, and where, and how does my attention now careen?
If it had been a better day, Astor might have done it. He might have gone inexplicably running ahead of Tobias, and then the moment the phoenix was close enough to ask what he was doing Astor might have jumped straight into that huge, perfect puddle. It would only have stung a little – hell, it might not have even hit him at all – but today Astor knew better.
puddle of mud, anyone remember that band? they were like a knock off of nickleback, before nickleback became a huge internet joke. they were pretty shitty to tell you the truth, not very original and not very good musicians. they had one single that would always get in my head, she fucking hates me or something like that. shit band indeed.
Bricks are only as tough as the person who throws them, makes them, molds them into their shape, and since rarely do people commit to all of the three, bricks are mostly confused, drip and dissolve into mortar on the ground, gray and cold as a Tuesday morning on the Appalachians.
what springs to mind, when i hear that word, is childhood memories of wellington boots and long plastic coats, holding the hand offered as i crash through countless pools of mud and rain, squealing when the splashes hit my legs covered by polka dotted tights. happier times, when the only thing i had to worry about was whether the faeries could get out if they fell into the abyss of murky water.
puddles are full of rain and water. They are so so beautiful. Running in them, jumping in them. When I was a kid, I use to jump in puddles all the time. Without a care in the world. Now, well, now I don’t jump in puddles anymore. It has more to do with the fact that I don’t want to get my socks wet with puddle water. Puddle water on the feet can make for a miserable day. Although, I do have a solution. Jump in puddles naked!
Looking at the note, Jensen’s eyes past to the floor where he noticed a place where a small dark puddle of some liquid had formed. He absentmindedly scuffed at it with his shoe only to find that it had not hardened, but was the consistency of molasses.
the puddle is a big as the ocean. One can only see the ripples of the water and the sun rays shining across. I love the puddle because i imagine it as little world of it’s own and many living creatures enjoying their life in that