Quenched

[rejectomorph]

Rain has come and gone, filling the darkness with sound and scent. The clouds remain, so there might be more. Even this small bit has been a relief, soaked up by the dry ground to reprieve the grassy fields, releasing dank odors and the sharp fragrance of pine. I turned out the lights and listened to it for a while, and breathed the cool drafts blown in by gusty wind. After the rain stopped, a rent in the clouds permitted the half moon to light the spangled plants and make the pavements gleam for a while. Now, the clouds themselves emerge in the early light, a drifting roof of variegated gray. The crickets continue to chirp from their damp beds, even as the first birds join them in song. The grass will remain green for a few more days, at least.