May and the smell of rain

I walked out the side doors of our apartment this morning. The damp air greeted me pleasantly, heavy with the scent of cedars and shrubs that spot the turf beside the parking lot. Last night had felt similar; it was cool but not cold, and although the sky was dark with clouds, the air was still, waiting to shed the weight of water it carried over the valley.

I clicked my MP3 player to the next song, and the soulful voice of Corinne Bailey Rae filled my ears, slowly and fully, like the sound of running a warm bath. My walk resembled any other day, except that it seemed like I could smell every blade of grass in the park that ran parallel to the road I walked to the bus. I glanced up as I often do, checking to see if any mischievous birds had me in their eyesight. Luckily, there were no pigeons. Just a pair of sneakers tied in a knot by the shoelaces that had been tossed up to overhang the telephone and power wires and wrap one around the other. I've always loved pictures of sneakers on a telephone wire.

The rottweiler down the road was still sleeping in his yard, so rather than greeting me with a timid bark, he rolled over as if to ignore any rude intrusions into his dreams of chasing cats or running after postal workers. I was early today to my stop, so I caught an early bus and had to transfer at the university. Although the air was nearly wet with all it's moisture, the benches were dry, meaning I could sit without worrying that my pants were going to be striped with dew. The bus out to the school arrived shortly, and after bidding a congenial hello to the driver who I've seen and talked to numerous times, I sat down to enjoy the rest of my commute and the novel that I've been reading.

As I stepped down from the bus, I was again hit with the spring smell of blooming trees and rain that had not yet fallen. Some people say they hate the grey and rain of the coast, but in spring, it's one of the most enchanting smells on the planet. I was never really bothered by the cloud or rain, unless it was during a cold snap (which, for Victoria, was rare). It was like a blanket to me, old and familiar. I used to walk in the rain when I could, just to be a part of it.

I walked through the doors of the school, again, as usual. They didn't bear the weight that they did on Monday. So up the stairs I went to get back to work. As I was gathering materials for my upcoming poetry unit, I came across a poem called, "Did I Miss Anything", by Tom Wayman, which, after asking that question in the title, goes on to respond in the body of the poem, alternating between answers of "Nothing" and "Everything". It's sarcastic and a little bit harsh, but the last stanza was ironically touching. Given the situation, that is. It reads as follows:

"Everything. Contained in this classroom
is a microcosm of human existence
assembled for you to query and examine and ponder
This is not the only place such an opportunity has been gathered

but it was one place

And you weren't here"

I smiled, although there were tears in my eyes. Last night I had spent some time reading through the news reports of the accident from Sunday, and all the commentary provided by people in the community who were either sending their condolences or were friends of my young student, rallying against reports that he was a loner. I didn't every think that... quiet, yes, but not a loner. Still, he isn't here. The tears have faded to a certain extent, but the heaviness remains.

- T