olfactory musings

I can smell the rain that has gathered in storm clouds, while the star jasmine that has weaved its way up and across the trellis outside my room shudders with each gust. The tangle of twigs loop over and under and over again, much like the rhythm of crochet. At soil level you can see the foundation chain, then as your eyes move upward, sprigs yield and curl around thicker branches, as if to seek comfort from the elements.

Meshed like yarn over hook, a mulch of memories surfaces where I remember gardens, forests and afternoons crocheting with my grandmother.

The rain has now been and gone and will come again, but it lingers, riding on the back of childhood.