Something I wrote two years ago today and only just found again tonight. . . (weird coincidence night)

I walked parched earth this morning. So dry even the cracks had cracks of their own, forming intricate fractals of thirst. Even as my steps crumbled the dusty edges of these micro-crevasses, I could feel the shift, the coming change that would obliterate their patterns. The air, which yesterday had seemed so harsh, so bereft of any life, and which had sucked all moisture from my breath, was thick and wet with promise of impending succour for the earth beneath my feet. A honeyed miasma from the paperbarks stifled all but the smell of wetted dust settling from the air, and I walked slowly, allowing the morning to suffuse my body. I once hated the humidity, I fled from it, hiding in cooler climes and air-conditioned offices, revelling in the cold wet of winter and the dry baking summers. The sudden tropical reminder hit me like a cyclone, a whirling of memories and emotions from another time. The breeze on my face is gentle, warm, wet and I walk on. The bothering flies persist with their petty irritations as they orbit me, but the morning is mine to enjoy.