Weather.

It stormed this evening. 

In Texas it threatens...threatens...

and the heavens open. 

The only time I know where the pipes are located in my house

is when it hails. 

They are echo chambers lurking behind my walls

banging out one sharp plunk after another. 

I stepped out on the back patio 

and the smell was a rush of memory.

Dad on the dark back porch,

the squeak of the swing's back and forth 

drowned out by the thunder of water on the tin roof. 

The brilliant flashes that made me jump out of the warmth of his arm

to say "Woah! It's like daytime" 

and peer into the dark greyness hoping it would happen again. 

I love the way thunderstorms smell

dirt, grass, wet, moss,

and my dad on the back porch.