The first rain after winter,
Has always been different.
As buds rose from the firm of the frost
And make root;
New and lively.
The smell damp and fresh,
As it patters the soil,
And the moist smell of earth
Fills the nostrils of those nearby.

It is not hard
Unlike the winter rains
It does now freeze you
Nor take root in frail and crumbling bones
But the air instead stays still
Waiting
Warm and serene
Waking animals from their long slumber
As Birds chirp their morning melody
To a symphony of pattering

It is not like the winter rains.
As you will walk in it
And feel as if you too
are a part of it
As it patters against you
And if it makes you wet
You do not mind,
Nor frown;
As you had the month before
When the winter rains fell.