Petrichor
(Read slowly to a listening world)
Petrichor.
The moment in between.
The not quite rain, nor yet the sun.
Not quite a life, not yet a death.
Between the back door and the front,
The world entire is compressed
In books, in screen-time,
Flat.
Yet every book, each screen refreshed
Each breath between
Is still a door.
Open, if we will,
To other hearts and other worlds.
Each moment that I see
And can not touch your face
Is the scent of rain-washed grass
Petrichor, the space between
Enriching what is now
And, beg patience,
What is yet to be.
Stef Downham. Husband, father, grandfather, railway clerk, guitarist, a man fascinated by words.
