Emily Winters                                                                                                                 

Petrichor

Turbulent gusts of wind on the horizon,

Sanding down all the rough spots,

Yet leaving the gritty bits of life to hunker down,

Withstanding the storm in a bunker of their own creation.

The skyline is patched with blades of grass,

And the smell of rain is on the agile breeze –

Who frolics like a dancer, with all the grace and virtue of a glass ballerina,

Weathering fragility and bearing her soul through the dance that is life.

Volitant and tetherless, the leaves eddy in the blue,

Reflecting the multi-colored maudlin of the people down below,

Stupidly and thoughtlessly dancing in their neat and tidy rows…

The droplets cushion their descent,

And they crystalize the roses and hide the daffodils in a cloak of angel’s tears.

The rain meets the ground for the first time,

The last time that it may remember the first,

And she reflects with the heart of a melody,

Pressing her memories in the pages of the Earth,

Caressing the red soil and the dust, the bones of our home…

The dust remembers for her.

We are but ashes and dust,

Mulling over our existence and the creation of time,

Pondering the time that remains without ever caring to live the life we say we will.

We look towards spring with an open heart and a cloudless sky,

We pray for summer with our minds focused so surely,

We hope with crossed fingers that autumn finds us in the arms of tri-colored leaves,

We say please, be there much snow this year.

The dust recalls the rain,

Sealing in her scent and her memory…

Protecting our memories within our hearts,

We learn from day to day that day to day is a wonderful thing.

And the petrichor invites us to think

And to live

And to wander through the fields of emerald,

Basking in the dust and just loving

Life.