Incense in the Church of Rain

You remember: the monsoon winds brought that smell

minutes, a half hour, ahead of the first raindrops. That was before

you knew it had a name: petrichor.

 

But you knew what it meant. Life.

Green spreading through dead grass. The pregnant swell

of rivers and buried seeds.

 

Of all rain’s blessings, petrichor is first—

and least—we could survive without it. Oh, but

how then would we learn holiness?

 

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