We call it the smell of rain, but it’s not really that. It’s more earthy than water could be. It is the aroma of rained on land, the smell of dirt, but more than that. It is soil, mere ground up rocks, but more alive, a life giving aroma which taps into those primal parts of our being, even still, instincts which revel in the delight that things can grow, that water from the heavens is sustaining us and our kin for a little bit longer, parched land can sate its long thirst.
The soft patter only lasted an hour, making a complete change in feeling, in aura.
Unfortunately, an unmade room and scattered possessions occupied my time more than sitting on a rocking chair with a cup of tea in my hand and the rhythm of life all around singing to my soul.
Tomorrow will be more focus, set up by the work of today. Much orbits my thoughts right now, in fact, but nothing which settles enough to discuss. So, I’ll to bed and see what lyrics paint my dreams, or stir my thoughts for tomorrow’s quests.