The damp earth held is own reservoir of rain-given water.
The earth breathed in the rain and nurtured the lacy roots.
After the rain of yesterday Karissa could see the dark mud of the path, yet the pine needles on top were already pale and moving with the breeze. She tilted her head toward the sun, feeling the gentle warmth, noticing how the sky was darker blue the higher she let her eyes wander.
The soil was so damp that the worms had surfaced to breathe and the crows fluttered over the grass with their inky wings, each of them eating at the sudden buffet.
The rain fell down the blades of grass into the already wet soil, the droplets pausing on the surface before being sucked into the dark particles.
The rain had washed the street clean and nowhere was the wetness more obvious than in the grass verges. Just yesterday Nancy had only noticed the grass, today she saw the soil, dark like molasses under the glossy strands.
The earth was at its richest tone having bathed in the rain, a hue that put Danny in mind of spring planting. He saw that colour and it brought to mind the tilled earth behind the plough and the aroma of the soil.