Damp and cold, her breath
slips through the door cracked
to push the smell of smoke
through the house while it rains
lightly. I steal deep breaths,
pretend I’m young again
before I light another.
Though I miss the real storms,
the overbearing trepidation
that escapes its banks to flood
with heroic tales and wonder
when its over, I am now lifted
out of time on her breath,
this gentle rain, hillsides
running green—reborn again.
drycrikjournal 
Lovely! You captured that moment so well.
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Thank you! All real.
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That makes the best poetry
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