I love the smell of rain on summer’s dust
The lightning as it speaks of coming storms
In the summer sky.
Clouds as black as midnight scurrying by
Leaving their tears falling
As boys run to the dugout
Throwing bats and gloves and hats
To keep them from getting wet.
And just as suddenly as it comes, it passes
They take the field again with shouts and hopes
Of diving catches
Line drive homers
Stolen bases.
I love the smell of hotdogs steaming
And burgers, onions sliced as thin as dollars
Relish mayonnaise and ketchup
Teasing taste buds tempting senses.
Umpires yelling.
Sounds of parents coaching, cheering
Base hits cracking off the bats like thunder
Balls and strikes resounding in catcher’s mitts
But before the final run has left third base
The storm returns and soaks the field
The red brick dust turns to red clay mud
The smiling faces run again to dugouts
Throwing bats and gloves and hats
And hopes and dreams
Fading as the smells of rain
On summer’s dust.
