Old Water

June 28, 2011
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For once your sense of smell triumphs over your ears
Even before you hear the first crystal explosions
Refracting off the rotting wood in the unused patio
You sense the mustiness
The scent of rain
Deep and abiding
Interlinked illusions of iridescent oil slicks
Mountain streams rilling over pebbles into sand
Stagnant wells tucked away behind crumbling red barns
Old, cold water
Streaking down between the unfettered cracks
To tickle the eager ferns
And above it all, bathing your lungs in history
Is the inescapable scent
That is reminiscent of mud puddles rain boots waterfalls
Yet somehow deeper, longer, more ancient than your smile
As the raindrops weave a tapestry between your fingertips

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