After the rain

 

After the storm, you opened the windows

And let it in: clean air. At once it felt

As fresh laundry or woodgrain to the scent,

You said: cool as two feet in the sea,

Blessed like water, pale as gentle morning.

The petrichor wept, as if the earth had, after

Too long holding its heart, at last

Given love its first gasp. You stood by,

Arms stretched to the frames, welcoming

The silent change. After the rain, we kept

The touch of it with us, brisk, wondrous.

 

 

Isn’t that fresh smell after rain just divine? Earthy, dusky, but clean and bright. The etymology of the word “petrichor” is really rather interesting, too. 

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