I had always thought the smell of rain was mesmerizing.
On every list I saw of “The World's Best Feelings,"
And “Good Things About Life,"
I would always see “the smell of rain"
Placed somewhere on the list
(Usually between “warm showers" and “snow days").
So, when my mother and I were in the car one rainy April afternoon,
While the first raindrops hit the pavement
With a plop, plop, plop,
And my mother said, “I hate the smell of rain.
It smells like burning water."
I knew water couldn't burn, only evaporate,
But that wasn't the point.
My first thought was to testify that the smell of rain was wonderful,
Until I realized what she meant by that,
That the smell of rain was kind of burning my nostrils, too,
And not in a “World's Best Feelings" sorta way.
So I stopped myself, and thought.
I thought, why did I just assume the smell of rain was so fantastic,
When I'd never taken the time to smell it myself?
And it was on my own list of good feelings,
Right between “warm showers" and “snow days."
What made the smell of rain so mesmerizing,
That I didn't ever notice it before?
And when it came to me, I screamed.
Because just because everyone else said the smell of rain was so damn great,
I agreed without investigation.
That says more about me than it does the weather, I think.