Open that door and it’s there.
The pitter of sound on the skylights
Warned
The endless rain
Soaking the plants, the ground, droplets balanced on leaves and then falling
Lines of rain
So straight
Then it stops and it’s quieter and all the glass on all the windows is blurred
Not droplets but silver grey smudges
Go outside and the smell is there
Damp earth
Petrichor
world of words 