I stepped out my door and then...

I wish that I could describe the intensity with which the outside air burdened me. The humidity matted my hair and gave a dull sheen to the gravel below. The rain had stopped, but its shower was fresh and lingered. I always liked being alone; I could notice the aftermath of the rain or the sweet after-taste of custard filled pastry or the grey look in the eye of a passerby. I wouldn’t notice the magic of a moment if I weren’t by myself but I also wouldn’t notice the sadness of a moment—the sadness of a drove of hungry consumers, or the sadness of a funnel of steam on a cold day. The state of the atmosphere however, was not actually what was important, but who’s to say what is or is not important because for a moment, all I saw was some damp gravel and was assaulted by that smell. It was the smell of the damp world that has not quite awoken from the blanket of rain. I didn’t hate it and I didn’t love it; I revered it.