Clouds. Strong wind. Then rain. Finally, the smell of wet stone and grass has filled the air after a long dry. I could not find all of Orion in the cloud-cross sky, but managed a glimpse of his sword when I gazed up as I drove away from my house on my early morning commute to work.
His sword will do.
I have been thinking much about Theresa Colley and her climb back to health. And if I were there with her, I would wish to be the scent of something like rain. Not to be the rain, but the scent of rain. I wish to be a small part of something bigger. All is captured within the scent of rain: loam, green tendril, solid stone, a child’s freshly washed hair, the hint of new flowers.
And if I cannot be the scent of rain, then, please, allow me to be Orion’s sword, fixed above and steady.
--Mitchell Hegman
No comments:
Post a Comment