Petrichor

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The smell of rain was the first thing I didn't realize I would miss about life outside of prison. It hit me one Sunday as I watched an indie movie on my little plastic TV. There was a scene that showed wet pavement glistening in that golden hour of afternoon light, and the memory of that earthy scent came to me. All of a sudden I was flooded with different feelings. There was an overtone of excitement as I was reminded of freedom, but there was so much more beneath the surface. It was also sad. I could feel myself getting older in that cell, as the years between that moment and the memory of smelling rain suddenly had weight.

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