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.
2 comments:
Thank you for the great and wonderful memory of when you were a little girl and we walked to the store (are you sure I didn't get the Fruit Loops - you know what a sugar cereal kind of guy I am).
It smells like rain here, each time I go to work (rainy season is upon us), the same rainy smell in the air. Pretty remarkable (and very cool) that we're half way around the world from each other and have the same wonderful olfactory causing memory going on.
You are such a wonderful young woman. Keep up the great writing (blogging).
Yes, Dad, I remember very clearly that you did NOT buy the Fruit Loops!! I love ya anyways.
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