Singing as the darkness lifts 13/11/2023 I am a poet who does not like the smell of petrichor. Last night it rained enough to make puddles on the path, so the smell is not in the air. This pleases me. Instead there is a refreshing, just there, note of herb and I learn that fruit flies too are sensitive to that smell of rain on dry ground. When I was at school one of the projects involved counting fruit flies. I do not remember the exact logistics, but think it had something to do with tabling the numbers with different markings on their rears. My turn one lunch time resulted in me wracking my brains for the knowledge I needed when I dropped the lid of the fruit fly housing and some of the numbers headed for the freedom of the laboratory ceiling. I didn’t let my group down, but I do think a fruit fly flew up my nose during the process. Counting things and noticing patterns in the possibly unpatterned has always been part of my wonder of the world and my way of holdin
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