After the Rain

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Rain.
I woke up to it in the early hours of morning. A gentle tapping, the faint rhythm tugging at my consciousness–it is the lullaby of nature herself. Awake, but not wakeful, I lay wrapped in warm, moist air, breathing in that green, wet scent:earth and growth.

Due perhaps to the end of my dream cycle (or to that nature program I watched last night on BBC), I imagined this smell of rain as swirling patterns of color. Apparently, the first pre-plants were purple bacteria; so my swirls began in this hue. Later, those bacteria reflecting green light took over–the first oxygen producers–and so my whirling particulate budded with green fronds. A mix of flora, my half-dreaming state and a Scottish voice-over nature narration, the air above my head was lush and living.

I returned to sleep after that–only to be awakened more rudely by my hungry felines. But in the misty dawn after the rain, the world was just as fresh and new as ever.

And (after I filled the cat bowls), I opened all the windows to let that world inside.

Again.

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