patter taps
earth breathes; roots relax
trees stretch; leaves drip
rivers rush gutters
insects scatter; wings whirr
clouds press closer
horizon smudges
open fields steam loam
relief rises; breath returns

It Started With a Smell

Early this morning, I caught it, the scent of raindrops rinsing our thirsty, windswept valley after the driest summer in 130 years. I told myself right then I should write a poem about that smell. Funny thing is, the only place it shows up is in the title, but I’m happy with the imagery that took shape instead.