When I was a little girl, we lived in North Carolina. One day my dad took me for a walk to the store. The store was at the end of a long road and down a big hill. (Or so it seemed to my tiny, 4-year-old self.) On the way there, my dad taught me what a pending rainstorm smells like. The sky was a great greeney yellow blue color. And there was this smell. Pungeant. Earthy. Rainy.
After our visit at the store, where I can vividly remember wanting you to buy some Fruit Loops for me (which you didn't) we walked back outside. And you distracted me by pointing out that it still smelled like rain. I can't remember whether or not we made it home before the downpour, but everytime it rains, I always, always remember you teaching me what rain smells like.
Last night, it rained. And I smelled that smell. And it made me think of you. It always does.
I love you, Dad.