Petrichor

Erik gifted me a new word, in response to the post about rain just below.

I think that word needs a post all of its own ... Petrichor.

petrichor (PET-ri-kuhr) noun

The pleasant smell that accompanies the first rain after a dry spell.

[From petro- (rock), from Greek petros (stone) + ichor (the fluid that is supposed to flow in the veins of the gods in Greek mythology). Coined by researchers I.J. Bear and R.G. Thomas.]

"Petrichor, the name for the smell of rain on dry ground, is from oils given off by vegetation, absorbed onto neighboring surfaces, and released into the air after a first rain." Matthew Bettelheim; Nature's Laboratory; Shasta Parent (Mt Shasta, California); Jan 2002.

"But, even in the other pieces, her prose breaks into passages of lyrical beauty that come as a sorely needed revivifying petrichor amid the pitiless glare of callousness and cruelty." Pradip Bhattacharya; Forest Interludes; Indianest.com; Jul 29, 2001.

Time ...

"Gradually my perspective on time had changed. In our culture, time can seem like an enemy: it chews us up and spits us out with appalling ease. But the monastic perspective welcomes time as a gift from God, and seeks to put it to good use rather than allowing us to be used up by it.

A friend who was educated by the Benedictines has told me that she owes to them her sanity with regard to time. "You'll never really finish anything in life," she says, "and while that's humbling, and frustrating, it's all right. The Benedictines, more than any other people I know, insist that there is time in each day for prayer, for work, for study, and for play.

" Liturgical time is essentially poetic time, oriented toward process rather than productivity, willing to wait attentively in stillness rather than always pushing to "get the job done."

Kathleen Norris,  extract from The Cloister Walk.
The truly lovely Diana, introduced me to the blog of Sofie and I believe I may have found a delicious new blog to add to my google reader.  I particularly enjoyed Sofie's post titled The Liturgy of My Hours ... oh yes.

 

 

Sunday in Oughterard, Ireland

We started well, it was a lazy start ... the best kind on a Sunday.

After breakfast Rob and Angie took us all into the forest to walk thrugh to the Lough with the dogs. Unfortunately I got between one of the dogs and her ball without realising, and experienced the whole impact-with-fast-moving-dog thing.  I thought I heard something crack in my lower leg but a short wait showed that nothing was broken.

I headed for home, threw some ice on it half-heartedly and then foolishly decided it wasn’t too bad and that I could walk it out.  Fish and chips for lunch, my first here in Ireland, then we were off to the fair with everyone via one of the tiny roads near Lough Corrib.  Photographs were taken.

Back at the house, downloading photographs, I fell asleep with some ice on that ankle of mine and frustratingly, I’ve woken in pain.  Rob strapped it.  He knows about stuff like this and I’m hoping it’s all gone in time for the ride across Ireland in the morning ...

Meanwhile it’s a beautiful day here.  The photograph below was taken on the shores of the Lough of Corrib.

Rob's Boat, Ireland

I’m sleeping in the most comfortable bed here and it’s making me sleep like I never sleep.  I’m loving it.

Yesterday, this is the boat we set out on ...
Why we turned back is a longer story than I have time to tell here today but Rob’s boat is a beautiful boat, and we were out in it on one of the best fishing lochs in Ireland.

 

A Boat, Oughterard, Ireland

Rob took us down to the river with the dogs.  There was this boat, just lying there in the grass looking beautiful ...

Since then, there’s been wandering through the village talking with lovely people, fishing by the river, fishing from the sail boat, now it’s cooking dinner.  A most enjoyable day here on the west coast of Ireland.

Stations of the Cross, Ireland

Today we wandered up to Mamean, here where we are, near Gallway, and Rob wrote of howthe 12 Bens of Connemara stood high and handsome behind us across the Inagh Valley, Bencorr in front, with Beanna Beola and Benbaun peeping over her shoulders. Ahead, the slopes of Binn Mhór and Binn Mhairg cradled the rising path, their quartzite rock glinting dully as cloud shadows brushed through, now gleaming dazzlingly as sunlight struck across.

After waxing poetic, with quite the mocking self in the ascendent, Rob continued with this ... Up at the pass stood a tiny chapel, an altar and the cave-like recess called St Patrick’s Bed. A statue of the saint brooded over the path, a sheep at his heels. Had the good shepherd Patrick once walked these slopes, blessed the holy well nearby and slept in the cave? Many down the centuries thought and felt that he had, and they forged a pilgrim path to the pass, with its breathtaking views over the Inagh and Maam valleys.

And here we have one of the stations cross. So beautiful it was up there.
I’m loving Ireland.

Alex Roe and Pavia, Italy

Sunday was one of those long enjoyable days spent wandering under this very very warm Italian sun ... and at the end of it, the only thing that could have improved the cold shower I took on arriving back at the apartment would have been remembering to take my 1.5l bottle of sparkling water into the shower with me.

Sunday in Genova began with Yoda, my phone alarm, waking me at 7am.  I was on the road by 8am and heading for Pavia, a small city somewhere between Genova and Milan.

10.25am and I finally met the man who has been a source of website inspiration to me for more that a few years.  I first ‘met’ Alex when he was a blogger and then watched as he made the leap into something bigger and more complex over time, developing  into something more than he began with, something excellent.

And so, with our much-loved Canon EOS digital cameras in hand, we wandered, chatting as we attempted to capture something of the architecture and alleyways in Pavia.

Alex is no slouch when it comes to wide-ranging conversation either and we covered much ground over hours ... hours broken up with coffees, a lunch in a beautiful piazza, gelato, and a cold drink at the train station while we waited for our respective trains to arrive.

12 hours later, one long hot train ride stuck next to a lanky youth who wanted his space, and I staggered in the door, heading straight for the shower, desperate to wash the heat of the day and the ache of endless walking out of me.  I’m happy to note that, as usual, the weight is dropping off me out here in the world and yesterday’s long walk surely melted some more of me.

I’ll let the photographs give you a taste of the day admitting, a little shamefacedly, that I went there knowing nothing about Pavia.  But really ... it was more about finally meeting Alex and taking photographs than it was about place.