Poetry...

Quote of the moment:
"The rain drop dried in my palm and it smelled of metal rust"

Recognise it? If not, take a guess where it's from...

If you do recognise it, you might be wondering why it's here. Read it again. Picture it in your mind. What image do you see? What are the details? Not just a hand with a raindrop, but the wrinkles on the hand, the reflections on the water, the feeling of breathing it in slowly, feeling the cool of the air after rain, the way that the gentle dampness pervades your skin. Or maybe you already have. I did. That's why it's here. Physics or rugby it certainly isn't... A single line that evokes a trance-like contemplation of a suspended moment in time? Everyone's image will be different, somehow personal, and probably nothing like the true moment. But that is the art of poetry, isn't it? To capture a feeling in a line that's personal to everyone. Beats Thomas Hardy any day...