A Cleansing Rain - June 18 2026

 

A Cleansing Rain

June 18 2026

The rain cleared the air.

It brought a sharpness to things 

a depth of colour,

the greens even greener

the blues more intense.

As if the earth was freshly made,

and the light of the sun

after 100 million miles through the vacuum of space

hadn’t been touched

by a single mote of dust,

scattered

by the thick blue haze

of diesel exhaust.

Hadn’t been filtered

strangled

corrupted.

I stopped and took a slow deep breath.

It had the sweet earthy smell

on desiccated soil and sun-baked stone

freshly soaked 

by summer rain.

Of ozone, with its metallic edge

washed from the stratosphere.

Water, bringing the parched landscape to life,

and the world seen

by means of light

in its purest form.

So just imagine if we weren't confined

to the narrow band

of visible light.

All the richness we’re denied.

All the mysteries revealed

and hidden layers lifted,

the occult beauty

we never knew we missed.

But as it is, even the sun breaking through

after a cleansing rain

leaves us mostly in the dark.

We are bottom-dwelling creatures,

catching glimpses

of bioluminescence

and what’s left of surface light.

We are voyeurs

with clouded lenses,

squinting through a pinhole with a single eye;

certain that our vision

takes in the world.

This is a poem about a moment in time I think everyone has experienced after a summer rain: the purity of light; the intensity and richness of the colours; the still life it leaves, imprinted on our retinas. 

It’s also a poem about close observation and being present. A “stop and smell the roses” moment.

As well as a commentary on our hubris:  not just our conceit of epistemological certainty, but our failure to properly acknowledge that beyond the knowable unknowns, there are unknowable unknowns.

(Of course, the scientist in me wants to mention that the filtering done by earth’s atmosphere (and magnetic field) greatly benefits us: otherwise, all that deadly cosmic radiation would have long ago killed the planet’s incipient life. (Subterranean life perhaps excepted.))

(By the way, there’s a word for the smell I describe: “petrichor”. In fact, I once wrote a poem by that name, if you care to look it up.)