You stand in your bathrobe. Wrapped tight against the chill. The grey sky. The rain. She makes waves in the puddles on your walk. Her soles starting sunamis. She hurries. Hunched against the wer. The drops in her hair. On her face. She reaches the door of the car. Opens it. Waves . And slides inside. She pulls out slow. Careful. Like perhaps if she was too fast it may waffle the moment. Then she is off. And you wave. And shut the door. Inside it’s warm. Outside in the grey wet world, your daughter.