she took off

her lady shoes (flats of some kind but too far away to see; she did not
sink into the grass when wearing them but wanted to feel the earth beneath
her feet, i thought), leaning on the bleachers.

her white shell and her dark rust skirt took on the late afternoon sun (burntsiennagold, sharply-angled)
and i thought that was quite enough beauty and started to turn back to my book, but then:

she took off running, at first a little girly- (arms swinging too much side
to side), in honor of her attire, i guess,

then then, a REAL run, straight for the sprinklers that were still on
all across that section of the playing field, through one and then setting
her trajectory so that she would run right through the spray of the second,
the third, fourth, fifth....

i turned away before it became unbearable: a rainbow in the mist or some
shit.

i turned away before it crashed back down: an office worker trying to recapture
the last days of summer, when you cannot believe how quickly it has all vanished,
when september looms in all its remembered routines.

i turned away, before i couldnt keep the moments clear from metaphor (too late),
metonymy, memory.