Pocket Fiction

After the Rain

Published October 13, 2018 in Jack Sprat - 0 Comments

After the Rain

The wet ground

around the chicory.

Fading lavender blue,

hanging on for dear life.

The rain knocked a pile of oranges

off the tree.

Bringing a slight citrus memory.

A kind of melancholy,

after they fell.

You could inhale it in the air.

Jack remembered skinny dipping,

and jumping through the green water

into her laughter, muffled now with the years.

But like the smell released

by the moisture,

that moment is freed,

to come alive again,

wet and welcoming.

It hasn’t rained here for months.

He hoped the storm would linger

just for a day or two.

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