Petrichor

I am drenched with melancholy by the summer rain

when the sky opens up and moves the 

furniture of my mind around with an easy grace.

The scent of heaven

conjures up a frayed and torn duffel bag of words,

I resist the temptation to write another poem, but I am

not forlorn.

By the river that empties into the sea, 
I leave three words

for you in the sand.

The tide will wash them away, but not

before we break into waves

and crash against the dark grey sky.

Anna (on Neopoet as Kailasana2)

I am drenched with melancholy by the summer rain. I wish I had written this sentence not least because for the most part of the week, it is the very epitome of me.  It would appear that in many ways I am not ready for the lifting of lockdown, and am overcome by a sense of foreboding that was only amplified by the storm that whistled through the chimneys of our house yesterday.

Don't get me wrong there are bits that I will be glad to see the back of and chance meetings with friends twice in four days has been wonderful, but I have no confidence in the Government's handling of our response to the coronavirus and even less in their ability to steer us safely out of it.  That Alastair can go back into school next week and come into socially distanced contact with 30 children, yet our best option for seeing our sons remains to drive to Stratford Upon Avon, or London and meet in the park seems incongruous and, dare I say, somewhat unscientific.  I was, perhaps wrongly, under the impression that the milestones we had to meet en route out of lockdown would be, if not irrefutable, at the very least visible or documented in a way that gave an understanding of where we are at, and what advice they are based on.  Add in the projected effects from the economic downturn and the sky appears very dark indeed.

Yet my wistfulness at the turn in the weather is more than that.  I have been forced to acknowledge that there is much about my new isolated life at home with my husband and my dog that I like, and I'm not ready for that bubble to burst.  Or perhaps more pertinently, there are bits about my previous life that I don't like, and am reluctant to return to.  With the absence of a beach, it has in many respects resembled our holidays of choice, shut away from the rest of the world in blissful isolation, and those who know me, will know how well I handle coming home.  

The idea however that "there is nothing permanent accept change" has been around for a long time, is in fact attributed to Heraclitus, a Greek philosopher from 500 BC, so perhaps I should start looking for ways to actually embrace it.  To feel the rain rather than just get wet.  To step outside myself and discover that I am in fact a pluviophile - someone who loves the rain and finds joy and peace of mind during rainy days.

Walking the dog this morning it wasn't hard to do.  There is something somewhat splendid about walking in the woods on a wet day.  The smells, the sounds of the birds singing when the rain abates, the heightened colours and abundance of lush green leaves against a darkened backdrop, the raindrops on a foxglove mirroring the pattern hidden inside providing a feast for my eyes.

In discovering that I am a pluviophile, I also learnt that there is a word for the smell of the earth after the rain - petrichor.  Coming from the Greek words petros (meaning stone) and ichor (the fluid that flows in the veins of the gods in Greek mythology), it was coined in 1964 by two Australian researchers to describe how the smell derives from an oil exuded by certain plants during dry periods, whereupon it is absorbed by clay-based soils and rocks before being released.  

A few weeks ago, at the height of the dry spell and after the first of the summer rain, Alastair came upstairs and opened the window so I could drink in the perfume. There's nothing quite like it, and I love it even more now I can imagine that it's been sent by the gods.  

I don't like change, but perhaps it's time to embrace it.  To use the rain to wash clean and cleanse, to rejuvenate and grow and to go manifest those dreams we lived during lockdown - like the heavenly scents that have laid dormant waiting for the rain.