God's Own Cologne

The story

A storm came over the road, and this time I didn't run. I stood in the downpour and let it wash me, the thunder moving left, then right, then over me, like a goodbye in every direction. Then it was gone, just a drip and the smell of wet earth. They call it petrichor. I call it the scent of everything I no longer have to own.

Lyrics

God’s Own Cologne

I stepped into the downpour
Didn’t flinch, didn’t flee
The sky didn’t shout
It just whispered to me

The grass drank deep
The pavement sighed
And something ancient
Opened wide

I thought the storm would break me
But it just let me go
Held me like a friend
Then told me what I know

They call it petrichor
But I know what it means
It’s the scent of being seen
Between the in-betweens
It’s the smell of something ending
Of something being known
Not just water—
God’s own cologne

I heard the roar of the clouds
Not angry—just alive
Like they were talking
To each other through the sky

It moved left
Then right
Then over me—
A full 8D goodbye

And then it was gone
Like grace with wings
Just a drip
And the memory of things

I didn’t chase it
Didn’t beg it to stay
I just stood there
Let it wash me away

They call it petrichor
But it’s more than what it seems
It’s the scent of release
It’s the baptism of dreams
It’s the scent of earth forgiven
The echo of a tone
Not just water—
God’s own cologne

We stood
Under one sky
Under one rain
Under the same water

No fight
No name
Just the end
And the start
And the same heart
Getting clean

They call it petrichor
But I’ve smelled it in my bones
It’s the scent of everything
I no longer have to own
Let the storm come
Let it soak the stone
It’s not just water
It’s God’s own cologne

Written in motion. Sung from memory.

Songs from the Slow Lane was born during a quiet two-day drive from Bardolino to Zurich, after the loss of my dog Madiba and just before bringing Clay into my life.

I didn’t plan to make an album.
I just let go—and it came.

Created in conversation with Travis, my AI companion, each song is a slow unfolding of memory, grief, and transformation.
Not a playlist. A presence.