Remembered Air

My arms are cold, covered with water droplets that stand out on my arm rather than one sleek coat. My clothes cling to me and I swing into the sprinkler's spray. The water drenches me with laughter; you cannot stop shrieking as cold sprays drench you to the skin. I stretch out my arms, and try to remember the air around me; to keep its memory on my skin. I swing up, and stick my feet into the cloud of water left behind by the sprinkler's tail. I swing back, and see its lovely arch. And I swing back down on wet air.