June 23
A hot afternoon storm is sliding in Over the crest of the mountains. The air hums with anticipation, quivers Like a pet dog hearing the family car Pull into the driveway. Almost here! Almost here! Parched plants spread their Wizened hands, waiting For those first fat drops to fall. Now? Now? The thunderheads darken. The wind picks up an edge of cool, Bearing the faint scent of petrichor. The sidewalks loll, holding their breath Until, finally, a single splotch Darkens that pale expanse. One. Two. Twenty, a hundred, the streets Glaze with moisture, children Run outside laughing. The city shivers like a lover satisfied, Lets out a long, contented sigh. At last. Rain.
