Poem for Petrichor

Photo: Viktorya Sergeeva


After weeks of dry weather, the rain
falls on dry grass, stone, soil, flowers –
sending a fragrance to the playing child
and rising to the gods who once
were the only ones so naturally perfumed.


That pleasant-to-some-of-us smell that can accompany the first rain after a long period of warm, dry weather has been given the name “petrichor” (PET-ri-kuhr). It is a modern word, taken from the Ancient Greek words πέτρα (pétra) ‘rock’ or πέτρος (pétros) ‘stone’, and ἰχώρ (ikhṓr), which was said to be the blood of the gods in Greek mythology. This unique, earthy fragrance comes from rain combined with plant oils, compounds in the dry soil, the ozone in the air, and geosmin from soil that is released into the air.

A Monarchy of Butterflies

Migrating in the fall to escape winter,
living only two to six weeks except
for the last generation of the year,
which can live perhaps nine months.
I need flight, escape, migration, a warmer gathering.

Butterflies

Migrating monarchs – via Flickr

The Fallow Year

It was meant to end this spring.
It was left fallow, without any sowing,
and it allowed for recovery, retaining essentials,
disrupting lifecycles of pathogens by removing hosts.

There is hope with any new growth.

fallow field


SOME BACKGROUND:
Though I was inspired by a field I saw that had been left fallow – unplanted – last year, the poem is also about the past year of pandemic. We were hopeful that the year of that would come to an end after being fallow. Spring is a hopeful time, but I’m still not sure how much new growth we’ll see this year or what we may be able to harvest at the end of 2021.