Zingo Netty it’s raining cats and dogs in Florida. The locals call it big rain. The down pour is fast and furious. Drain pipes on the sides of the house empty with the intensity of a water hydrant being flushed. … Continue reading
The Smell of Rain
Aging & Attitude
Steel metal colored clouds consume the sky and travel my way. The sun disappears behind them, and the sky turns dark.
Lightning cracks the sky and the sound pierces my ears.
The rain falls heavily, straight down and creates a blur, like Niagara Falls, a sheet of rain cascades off the roof gutters and I recall standing on “The Maid of the Mist” weathering the streams of water surrounded by rock.
The pinging rain is musical and comforting.
Floridians call it “big rain,” and pull to the side of the road the visibility is so poor. It is not a monsoon, a season of precipitation, although the rain in April and May seems endless.
This daytime rain smells sweet.
A smell so fragile I inhale deeply to guess its fragrance. It is clean and crisp like mountain air but not strong. It is not vanilla, nor any other spice and less subtle than an herb.
Childhood memories; searching for a four-leaf clover, cartwheels, and skipping home to snack on Wonder bread, buttered and sugared, permeate my mind.
Coolness surrounds my shoulders and I close my eyes to relish the moment and the smell of rain, but cannot capture words.
What do you think rain smells like?