Where the water sings

Once, I stood still under the sun—
let it press its fire into my skin,
let it weigh me down,
a command to endure.

But today, I run where the water sings.

Barefoot through cold laughter,
water lifting into chorus,
bright and quick as joy,
wrapping my ankles, pulling me back
to something younger,
something unafraid to break the surface.

The sun is still there,
but today, it is only light—
not a burden, not a weight,
not the slow burn of too much time,
not heat settling in my ribs like dust.

Just warmth,
watching me play.