Writings from a Cloudy Day

Do you know the smell? It is a sweet smell - the smell of Georgia in the fall after a long rain. The world is wet and a long thirst is now quenched. The air smells sweet as the temperature drops and the air doesn't feel so thick. And, for whatever reason, it is this time, this smell lingering in the air that reminds me of romance. From memories of sitting in cars in parking lots as the rain poured around me and my heart raced with exhilaration. To memories of being at the park, as the rain fell around me and all I could think of was the person I was there with. How bad I wanted to hold them and to kiss them in the rain. To me, the sweet smell I describe is synonymous with Love, romance and passion. I smell that smell and it reminds me of 'The Notebook' and canned cheese. It reminds me of a blue GMC pick - up truck and it reminds me of the fair grounds in my hometown. Standing against the bathroom building, experiencing my first kiss(es). But most importantly, that smell reminds me of what all I have to feel pessimistic about: The end of summer, romances that die and soul killing monotony. And still, it also reminds me of all I have to feel optimistic about: Experiencing love and romance again, fighting for what is good and what is right, and always staying true to my self.

There is the very cliché question of, "What is your favorite season?"

And I'm starting to come around to the possibility that maybe Georgia isn't diverse in its seasons. But I appreciate the nature and the weather all the same. I appreciate the smell after a rain, or on a cool, cloudy day. Days that are either extremely hot or extremely cold seem not, to me, to have a smell . . . But in the spring and the fall you can smell it. It is sweet, basic and completely natural.

I'm sure that some day when I'm older, I will smell that sweet smell and be reminded of my youth, my energy for love and romance and my will to fight. I hope when I smell it then that I have not lost those things and that if I have, that I find them again, for they are what makes life worth living.

"Those that dream by night, in the dusty recesses of their mind, wake in the day to find that all was vanity, but the dreamers of the day, are dangerous men, for they may act out their dreams and make them real."