‘You know what that smell in the air is, don’t you?’ I said, feeling sure he would lecture me
about it in his usual way, but making the effort to smile at him as the water from the sudden
downpour swirled and gurgled in the gutter, but he shook his head.
‘It’s Petrichor,’ I said, ‘which is a word for the dry earth releasing chemicals after rain.’ I
was fired up by the discovery that for once I knew a fancy word he didn’t, and I gabbled on
about it all the way up the long road home. Having the upper hand in conversation for once
was a thrilling distraction from all our woes, but of course it didn’t last, any more than that
evanescent scent of rain did.
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