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Can you see that? It’s rain, rolling in rivulets off my roof! Ordinary and yet, sometimes rare, rain! Granted, it didn’t last more than five minutes, but I hurriedly removed the cushions from the chairs and then stood in the doorway and smiled. Rain! Our cracked dry earth is drinking it in like the life-giving elixir it is.
What is it about the smell of fresh rain? Do you suppose that loamy, earthy smell is universal, or does Marie’s rain in Ireland have a different smell than Philippa’s rain in Myanmar or mine in South Texas?
