Remembering the rain (scanned notebook)

A cool breeze touches
my cheek with the promise
of rain. I always ache for
rain this time of year and so
wait for it's arrival. I
miss the scent of river or sea
most on days like these -- recalling
when I sat at the foot of the
river near the bay under the
extended branches of isolated
trees to watch the clouds
rush in -- this near where some
fool tried to rebuild an
old hotel only to burn it
down when he realized he
could never make his money
back -- and sold the land off
for condos later, spoiling that
one small sacred place. When the rain
comes finally, it smells of
pavement -- the strange
metallic scene that comes
when the drops first hit
the over-heated asphalt --
a smell I remember from
when I was very small,
and this, too, brings me
back -- if not to the same
place or time, then to the
same sense of peace.