It’s the comforting sound as the drops pelt down,
The pitter, patter as they fall upon the roof.
The splash as the puddles on the ground grow a little bigger,
Knowing that everything temporary is going to be washed away.
The chalk runs down the side walk,
Leaving a trail of colourful tears as it fades.
The leaves scatter on the lawn,
Leaving the image of complete disarray.
It’s the smell - fresh yet stale that follows the storm,
The way the clouds hang in exhaustion.
It’s the way everything is left in a state of dampness,
Willing you to start again.