I am writing to you mostly to tell you about the word I just learned. Petrichor.

You might think that this is not going to be a very interesting word, but that thought would not be accurate, because, listen, it means:  That distinctively pleasant fragrance of rain falling on dry ground. It is produced by oily, yellow-gold globules, rather like perfume, that either come from certain plants or the air itself. Which is it? From the air or from the certain plants?

And then, this word stretches out its little fingers and offers us another gift, an additional word nesting inside of it, both lovely and grotesque. Certainly you guessed that “petri” comes from the Greek root for earth. The part left over then, ichor, is a word which originally referred to the mythical rarefied fluid that flowed in the veins of the gods. 

And nowadays, it has come to mean a thin watery or blood-tinged discharge, like that which flows from a wound or an inflammation. A fluid that has these properties is ichorous.

I am trying to remember the word by thinking of Icarus, and that if he got burned real bad by the sun, his skin would form boils which would at some point ooze ichor. And wouldn’t it be bittersweet, because he had been attempting to fly (which could be considered reaching for the realm of the gods, maybe wishing for ichor to flow through ones veins), and was struck down by the heat of the sun (and then just had ichor pussing out of the lesions).

You could rearrange the letters to also spell choir. Which for me also hearkens a bit to Greek imagery.

Love,
KM