Petrichor

The light casts noble metal over the forest crown and cornices of Outer Berlin.

I can see strong weather coming, and birds from the east race this column of rain to land.

My best friend Willa puts her paws on the railing, takes the wind with her wet bulb of a nose.

We look at each other.

We know, and know each other knows, and so on forever - this scent.

We look, and though we cannot speak, we know, forever, that we will live. That others will die, and we will live, and survive the rain because of the rain.

This water in the air, is our blood in the water, is the blood of the earth, borne into the air.

We are flying sharks, on the fifth story, as the summer ends - and the lively smell of cell death makes promises of spring.