I make rainbows out of water. My dad tells me to water the dry spots on the lawn. The “toupees” he calls them, as in the faux clump of hair a man can wear on his patch-less scalp.
First, I dose my feet with the hose. I want cold feet. I want to be refreshed. Then, I aim the nozzle, I pull the trigger, and let loose until I see shooting light that bends into the familiar arch I was aiming for. Colors only visible, maybe, to the human eye.
Colors that make me feel human, unlike calling dry patches of grass, hairpieces.