It's Still Life

An Everywhere Poem: Stream of Consciousness (Peak)

Early spring.
Snow still holding the peaks.
I walk into crisp mountain air and there it is again.

Ozone.
Thin air seems to gather it.

Sharp.
Metallic.
The scent of lightning.

Like being a curious child and wondering what a penny tasted like.

I found out.
Not with my tongue,
but somewhere behind my eyes,
where metal became a smell my sinuses never forgot.

And petrichor,
that has a name too.

Geosmin.

I had to look it up once.
Forgot the word almost immediately.
Geosmin.
Just a word

that the mountains didn’t need.
The snow holding on in April didn’t need it.
Neither did the cold air,
or that unforgettable scent.

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Everywhere Poems don’t have a subject. They have a starting point and follow wherever attention leads. It’s — go for a walk and see where you end up.

Written for Linda’s Friday Stream of Consciousness: *peak* . Some images created with Midjourney; all writing is my own original work.©Misky 2006-2026.