Wednesday, March 18, 2015

Petrichor

It's a half hour past my bedtime
and I'm just walking to my car
in the school's parking lot
I'm certain I will not find the inspiration 
to write today

The exit door thuds behind me 
with its familiar thud
I slump onto the path
and inhale noisily
to get ready for
the cold that 
cloaks a March night

It doesn't come - 
the cold air - 
Instead, I'm acknowledged by
that sweet damp freeing smell
of drenched earth

I can taste the clouds
soothing and lightening
I slow my speeding steps
to a lullaby of an amble
gleeful with the glimmer
and my reflection in concrete puddles

Funny how a few drops
and that smell
of the earth bathed
in buckets of cloud tears
can be uplifting
even in the weight of exhaustion

Rare drops on the windshield of my car made for a pleasant drive.
 



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