There is a slight wind,
Sussurating through the curtains.
The sky is the color of stone.
In moments the scent of petrichor,
Green and earthy, rises into the
Warm, wet air. Soon apparent is
The scent of the river.
I am on my third folding umbrella,
Having lost the first two.
The rain and sweat have mingled
On my back. It will be this way
For almost half the year,
A time of consecutive typhoons.
Time to enjoy the last of the
Summer fruits. They add their
Perfume to the smells of the
Monsoon.
06 June 2018
Copyright 2018 Mona Caccam
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