Waiting for Rain

I hear two frogs speaking to one another, one with a deep somber bass, the other a flippity alto.
I think they are flirting.

I hear Leaves whispering and quiet jingling that tells me of a breeze; a breath.
I hear buzzing or humming and I cannot tell if it is the vapor lights thrumming, or a preview of the expected cicadas.
I hear voices from other porches and sidewalks.
Sounds are low tonight, and very near.

I smell the early perfumes of flowers, and the clean scent of overturned dirt, and a hint of a freshly mown lawn. I smell rain.

Rain is coming to a place near me.