i welcome storms, especially the gentle beginning and inhalation of petrichor, yeah, that shit always winds up in a poem somewhere, for sure… not mine, but somewhere. it’s a great word but it’s one of those words that shows up unsurprisingly, like ‘liminal’ (maybe time to just live on the edge and let that one go).

it smells so good though, in the way that a musty attic full of secrets to unpack also smells good, and also not like that at all. the attic is the smell of time over a span, and petrichor is a smell of the present. their own similarity may be, in the end, that i happen to like both kinds of time.

we once welcomed thunder and lightning when we knew more about it. skygasms of light and electrical discharge, visual shock felt also through the follicles and then the ears, driving the body to spasm. boom. big bang indeed.

now, we cower as the lightning strikes, afraid of a power bigger than we are. it could burn down everything we know and love, this power, even if accompanied by rain. it is never enough now. we are dry to parched, soaking it up as fast as it falls, praying it stays on the land so we can welcome thunder and lightning back into our lives as something to behold without so much terror. it’s no longer a matter of if, but when, yet we stay. such a human thing to do.