I walked through the front door and the overwhelmingly familiar smell of a spring thunderstorm hit me so hard I almost began to cry. It is one of my fondest memories. When I was young I would sit at the window counting, the smell filling my nostrils. The storm would reach down and strike our large willow tree. My father was worried it would split and fall onto our roof. Today as I drove into town the rain began to fall I rolled down all the windows. The air was warm and humid. I parked and sat, staring into the bright sky.
Beneath the orange summer storm;
Fragrance from home