Hey Jack Kerouac...my daughter speaks in haiku

Each day that we drove during our road trip, it poured rain. One day, as we moved further east into a region with foliage and landscape, the rain gentled into a shower.

With families of trees----parents, kids, aunts, uncles, cousins, even the lone black sheep of a different variety---bracketing us as we barreled forward, the rain droplets collected and skittered on our windows.

The pattering water and road noise blanket us, a lullaby of white noise. We all felt like lazy sleepwalkers, not asleep but not awake. Eventually, the baby succumbed to it, first her eyes falling heavily down, then her head lolling to the side. One fist resisted, shooting upwards, then gently fell like an autumn leaf in resigned acceptance of hibernation. Her cheeks pinkened as she let air in and out of her open mouth and round nose. She pulled her lovey blanket---tofty on one side and toothey on the other---up over her face, leaving only one closed eye visible. She clutched her chenille pooh bear to her chest.

Gazing out in a rare quiet moment, while the baby slept, my daughter said, "Mama, the rain drops dance like Chinese dragons on our windows."

It was only 9 a.m. on Day Two, but it felt like this was our entire lives. And in that moment, I thought, "Beautiful."

By Julie Pippert
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