The smell of rain

After work, I got off the bus to find the Corydon Avenue patios deserted in the rain, the usually crowded streets empty except for the wail of a jazzy saxophone from inside the cafe on the corner. Rain was pouring down, and as I crossed the street I could see drops of rain exploding on the pavement, caught in the headlights passing cars. Walking home down the dark sidewalk, I smelled the rain and thought of Micawber, and how he would never smell the rain again and never press his warm belly to the cool, damp earth. But the sadness was lost as the scent of the white lilac trees in front of our building greeted me, and the warmly lit lobby welcomed me home.

I think I'm starting to heal a little.