I was talking to Owlfeather, and said that from up here, it smells like the whole round world.
Round, round, fulI world. I breathe deep as I pass over cities, cross borders, swoop low over fields of clover. From this vantange point the most remarkable thing is that my sense of smell is better than ever.
I can smell sweet roma tomatoes ripening on the vine, and the dense pungent aroma of fresh mown hay. Apple trees. When I fly low, I can smell cheese aging; the pot of soup that simmers with garlic, onion, and chili peppers bubbling atop the beans.
I knew that regaining my sense of smell would be an advantage my quit would give me. I just couldn’t imagine how great it would be to smell things again. I can tell when my favorite chicken wing restaurant is using their fish-fry batter in a pinch on their chicken orders. I can smell the hot rye seeds on my toast and know that I have to add a mild swiss. I can smell, well, that my cat is getting older. And bath oils! Oh mama heaven – spearmint and eucalyptus! Rapture!
I had forgotten the smell of salt. Salt smells like a dead blow fish washed up on the beach. Coffee. Wet cotton mittens. A tropical storm coming in. Mustard flowers. Roses! Such a delight to be alive. I can smell the whole round world up here.
