Racing the rain

On the scooter I am not heavy, not trying to lift myself from my seat on the floor
to chase a naughty toddler.

There is breeze, I am in it, there is release from the humidity
that sometimes threatens to close me in

And there is thunder! Somewhere, in the distance, I hear it
now I notice the sky is darkening, my bags are flapping
full of finds from the market- I'm taking them home to my family

My time is running out, I’d better get back
The gathering dark keeps me from seeing much beyond the road, my other senses are heightened
my sense of smell:
There is the night blooming jasmine
There is the dumpster, full and scattered by dogs and cows
There is the smell of the evening dhoop, the heady incense of the dusk
And dinner is cooking at that house there

Now the night blooming jasmine again and the scent of the jungle
the greenness of it, the living things

(Sometimes snakes mistakenly crawl out onto the road and live no more.)

I feel the first drops
That dark green smell means that I am almost home
wind whipping me, honked at and honking
others are making their way hurriedly too
not wanting to be caught in the rush of water that we are all too thankful for
It has been too dry, this monsoon

But inside I will be even more glad
I am flying, well, at 40 km an hour, I am sort of flying
And the smells are so heady
And they follow me
And I am almost home
And up the red driveway and the rain breaks and chases me inside
where I collapse, wet and laughing

Full of the night, the smells, the storm that tossed me back into
my family’s arms.