It Is Just Beyond

It teases at the senses, the little things that go unsaid. The soft scent of rain and earth, reminding me of spring, taunting me with whispered promises of warmth. It tears me near in two and then draws me back in gently, enfolding within its soft heat, within its embrace. That scent of fresh grass and gentle earth, that heady caress of my senses when the air is just chill enough to bring rouge to my cheeks, but not so cold that I shiver. The air is thick and the sky heavy and full of clouds that threaten rain in the manner of large embittered women who shake their fists and fingers to impress upon one the strength waiting to be unleashed from within those meaty hands.

I have relinquished my anger, subsided back into that calm place within, the place where memories are a misty rain in the darkness, skewing the lamplights so that there is only a pale, vague image of their white luminescence. Emotions are the slick asphalt streets and walkways that reflect the lamplight back from their dark surfaces, the reflected light seeming sharper than its origin. I am back in this secret realm, where I have resided for so long, and will continue to be. I am at home with myself here, where my senses are full, but the picture of the world is not so intense, or hurtfully sharp. Instead it is dulled and dampened by the teasing promise of that mist and rain which sing of the spring to come.