After the storm, you opened the windows
And let it in: clean air. At once it felt
As fresh laundry or woodgrain to the scent,
You said: cool as two feet in the sea,
Blessed like water, pale as gentle morning.
The petrichor wept, as if the earth had, after
Too long holding its heart, at last
Given love its first gasp. You stood by,
Arms stretched to the frames, welcoming
The silent change. After the rain, we kept
The touch of it with us, brisk, wondrous.
Isn’t that fresh smell after rain just divine? Earthy, dusky, but clean and bright. The etymology of the word “petrichor” is really rather interesting, too.