First Rain

The land was dry, hard with waiting,

cracked where winter once ran.

Still, cotyledons pushed through,

small, fierce, certain.

Then came the rain, not mist or drizzle,

but spring’s first true downpour,

soft, steady, soaking in.

And with it, scent,

that heart-deep smell

of earth meeting water.

The land exhaled.

So did we.

Softness returned.