My baby is a poet. This made me happy, sad and wistful for deep summer evenings.
The sky is black and the air is dark
I can hardly see the hand in front of my face
looking up to see pieces of light scattered through the sky
like the freckles on your face
I close my eyes and breathe in the freshness of the wheat
and the pungent onions
mixed with the sound of sprinklers
I open my eyes and no longer recognize the smell of the earth
I hear the rain on my window
But it’s not the same
I close my eyes again
So I can breathe in my crisp air and your scent
14 October 2014
Sometimes, when it rains at night here, it reminds me of summer in my hometown. I can close my eyes and almost feel myself sitting on my back deck with my closest friends in the pitch black, the only light being the stars. We listen to the sprinklers, which on some nights, sound just like the rain here. I can remember the smell of the wheat fields, fresh and a little earthy. And when it's harvest time, the wheat mixes with the onions, which add a little bit of a pungent, sour almost, smell to the scent.
I open my eyes again and see I’m not in the place full of wheat and onions and love, but am somewhere entirely new. Somewhere I’m not used to. Somewhere I still have to learn about, and create my own love and life at. And that inspires a sense of longing in myself, longing for the feelings and smells that I know.
When it rains here, it makes me want to go back to summer in my hometown, and be with the people I miss most.