RAIN

I miss the rain
the smell of wet grass
the feel of dampness on skin
filling your pores
beads gather on branches,
eyelashes,
windows that fog.
Fingers
drawing pictures in the mist.
I miss the sound
the patter
bringing memories
of quiet mornings
of perpetual Fall
shoulders relaxed
and thoughts emptied
onto blank pages.
There is comfort in the chill
familiar
simple
quiet
I miss leaning my forehead
against the glass
the coolness
a balm against my restlessness.
Gray is a color I know well
The color of sky,
ease,
and home.