Petrichor Monday; the day after rain.
The only thing that makes such a day tolerable — being a Monday and no longer raining — is the smile of a woman some 500 miles away.
I know when she smiles you see; I feel it in my chest.
Lungs and heart radiant from heat, the feeling — forgive me my rhyme — is felt almost to my feet.
I miss the pitter patter thud thud, the telegraph operator must be on break. No matter, the message won’t change.
It grows in echoes, in reverberations out in space.
The pitter patter thud thud will come again; for now enjoy the Monday smell.