They call it Petrichor, I call it warm Grassmint
It was raining.
I can’t recall loving the rain
Particularly a thunderstorm
They usually scare the joy out of me
Incepting fear and panic right down to my not so small bones
Till they sometimes succumb to involuntary shaking
But I do love the traces the rain leaves behind
Telling whoever who cares to notice I was here
First there is the smell of the ground and the grass
Petrichor the scientists call it
Wafting through the air into my nostrils
Smelling like some sort of mint Made from the grass
Grassmint I like to call it
Mixed with the heat
Finding escape from the tight, firm grip of the earth’s crust
This smell wafting not just into my nostrils but also up as far as the clouds
A process described as convection in science.
But this author would like to imagine it as an exchange;
A form of appreciation from the ground to the clouds for its release
Then, the crusts on the ground the rain forms
Very crunchy I’d say
Each time my feet takes a step on the crusted ground
I’m reminded of the times I’d make my cornflakes with cold water and lots of milk
Going further to take a spoon and move it towards my opened mouth
I’m reminded of the sound that comes from the grinding of the cereal in between my merciless teeth😂
Crunch crunch crunch
How dare I not mention
the cool breeze that comes with the rain !
That makes ones sleep a little more blissful
That makes you want to scoot a little deeper under your blanket even though there’s no longer depth or length for the poor blanket.
Or the atmosphere it creates that makes most hormonal human beings (which is everyone) crave some form of intimate human contact
There is no end to statements like “Weather for two” at this time
Oh sweet rain
If you were a person I’d have give you a hug
Since I can’t do that
I might have to resort to the occasional dance in the rain
I hope you like my spazzing dancing Mr Rain
Ifedolapo
Beautiful 😘ðŸ˜
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