After the storm water drops, cool upon my hair, like tears from leaves, from the forest.
A gentle symphony sounds… of falling drops cascading from different heights, cicada buzzing and a hidden owl, watching.
The scent of rain, I will remember, like I remembered when I was a child…
A fresh sweetness from the new damp, electrically charged, was exciting to me. The dark roots of trees and soil smelled musky and mysterious.
I walk along a dark, country road, listening as a breeze rustles through the trees; clouds shifting shapes of darkness and patterns, moving slow upon the grey road before me.
Mimosa trees can be found here, always in summer, always full with pink flowers. Soft hairs tickle my nose, as I breathe in the dewy, sugary scent that I love.
An abandoned farmhouse, dark within and broken windows, I come to on the end of my journey. I stand and watch, listening for sounds…stillness has many sounds
The broken, upstairs window has wavy glass, that reflects colors, like an oil slick in the water.
As a child, when I would look at an old house and the upstairs windows, I also thought the house watches, too.
I loved going into the house, into the room I watched from the outside, to look out of the windows from the inside of that room. The changing of perspective was intriguing to me…what I was able to see changed.
A Journey after the storm…