Petrichor

What is it to blossom, to emerge from darkness? What is it to wait, to wait with hope? What is it to wait for the soil to turn green, for the sky to cloud, for the first drop of rain to fall? What is it to wait for a scent, to breathe in the sound of the wet earth? What is it to wait for dried-out hopes to blossom again? Waiting is to wait, to hope for the shared scent of rain and soil.