​I love the feel
in the air
just before it rains.
I am drawn
to the energy of it.
Beginning with
the hair on my arms
standing on end.
Then the smell of water
coalescing all about me.
I watch the dark clouds
surf in on the crest
of the silvered,
curling wave.
I hunch my shoulders,
squint and look up
with palms upraised.
I can taste the dust
being displaced,
kicked up.
Then it falls
in earnest,
I’m calculating,
rate X time = distance
to some shelter.
I run with a
reluctant smile
plastered on my face.
I jump the puddles
until it’s too late,
then I splash
with both feet,
and I’m a child
but strangely

M. Zane McClellan

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