Rain hung in the air the whole morning,
Like a lantern dangling askew from the ceiling of a dancing hall, while
Musicians packed their instruments, and
Last dancers started to leave.
Somebody dimmed the lights and sky darkened,
Softly, rain fall,
Like a curtain over an empty podium,
Large droplets rolling in the misty air,
Still warm and fragrant but no longer the ones to dance and kiss under,
Rather to seek shelter.
Walking on the side of the road, I saw people closing windows, picking washing left to dry outside, hurrying their children inside.
Some dawns will still dazzle with sunshine.
And some afternoons mellow with warmth.
Their beauty equal only to their brevity.
I did not hurry.
I longed for the smell of dampened earth and flowers and grass to permeate my nostrils, my skin, my eye sockets, curious tubes inside my ears, cavity of my mouth,
To lie into the embrace of a moist and heavy garden, lulled into sleep by whispers, sashaying of leaves, caresses of gentle breeze,
My hair tangled with petals and smeared with blood of small insects.
Before I reached home, evening tiptoed in and air stiffened with cold.
That night I dreamed of running under the summer skies of my youth.