an attempt will be made

to recapture a moment I was in while walking in my neighborhood yesterday.  I looked over at the small grey run down house with the rusted orange pinto parked in the driveway. I saw the young naked maple reflected in the street puddle out front.  Rain was starting to fall and perfect rippling rings were disturbing the surface of the grey puddle.  
It was simultaneously a sad domestic portrait and an expression of the remarkable qualities of water, with its powers to reflect and cleanse, distort and sanctify.