Maquinna's Poop du Jour

Ex-scent-uated Memory

It's the smells I miss most. The briny, cool smell of low tide, sticking in the back of your throat. The dank earthy smell of damp moss and the bright smell of ferns carpeting the forest floor under the cedar and douglas fir. Even the acrid smell of fish rotting on the shore, their eyes picked out by the gulls. Diesel engines idling in the harbour. Salt water. Kelp. Sometimes if I close my eyes and plug my ears, try to stop everything else from reaching me, I can search back and touch those smells again in my memories.

posted by Maquinna @ 11:48 a.m.