For the past few days we've been having the sort of rains that you feel in your chest and the backs of your knees, the kind laced with so many secret messages that they clog up the storm drains and fill the streets with puddles.
By Monday evening the rain had been going on long enough and heavy enough that it had bruised all of the lavender and rosemary bushes along my route home. I could see the people stopped in their cars at the stoplights feeling sorry for me, buffeted by the wind and rain and clutching my space umbrella. But they were missing the important part, wrapped in the dark on the sweetly spicy sidewalks all swept clean by the rain.
I was cold and wet and almost exclusively just wanted to be home already, but on the other hand I have never smelled anything quite so perfect.