Okay, let’s face it–a mud puddle is about the lowest thing in life. But, it has an undeserved reputation because I’ve never seen a puddle on the ground that was muddy–at least, until someone stepped in it. 
Puddles that remain after a rain can’t help that they happen to be in a low spot and will probably never grow into a more respectable name, like pond or creek. From the moment they are formed, they are simple puddles and puddles they’ll remain until they sink out of sight.
But, mud puddles are beautiful! They reflect the sky, the leaves, grass, and flowers. Like a mirror, they show the world as it is in their own particular little habitat. And, when you stop and think about it, that’s a pretty neat thing.
After the rain a couple of days ago, my trusty camera and I got out into the front yard. We noticed the smallish bird bath was full of rain water and reflections. Every low spot in the yard had its own little puddle with a miniature view of life above it. Beside the porch, close to a puddle under the eaves were my hardy hyacinths. Through the years, they’ve survived heat and cold, moles and squirrels, to bloom each spring. And, the fragrance. It’s–well, it’s heavenly.
Life has its storms. It has its rainy days, cloudy days when the sun is just a dim memory. And, after the rain, there’ll be puddles, little reminders that nothing lasts forever. And, after a spring rain, there’ll be flowers. They won’t last long either. They too are reflections of a time when a little girl and I planted them. Puddles, hyacinths, and memories. They sort of go together, don’t they?
Note: Absolutely the last day that the The Cemetery Club, Grave Heritage, Grave Shift, Best Left Buried, and Moonlight Can Be Murder will be 99 cents. Just thought I’d remind you.
Beautiful!
Thank you, Kimberly.