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Apr. 22nd, 2007 10:26 pmThere are a precious few perfect smells in this world.
One is the smell of your dog's fur when you return from a long trip and bury your face in his side as he makes subdued noises of joy at being reunited with his dearest friend.
Another is the scent of the perfume that your loved one wore, back in the time when you could only see her for a few precious days at a time; days that were separated by far too many hours. It's the scent left on your pillow that you would breath deep into your lungs, trying to capture its essence forever as the aching nearness of it tore a gap in your heart as wide as the distance that separated you from its source.
And here is another. It is the first time in a new year that winds rush around your house, whipping venetian blinds into a dance, their flailings against the wall providing its rhythm. It is the first time in a new year that the cool sprinkle of rain falls on warm pavement, releasing the spirit of life that's been trapped, frozen, in the earth through the long winter. Like a long absent friend, like a yearned for lover who left you six months ago with a lingering kiss and a promise to return, it comes back to your life and brings with it a passion, a vitality, and a newness of being that your most intense moments of memory-born reverie could only half capture.
Here, tonight, in my little midwestern town, the world has been reborn.
One is the smell of your dog's fur when you return from a long trip and bury your face in his side as he makes subdued noises of joy at being reunited with his dearest friend.
Another is the scent of the perfume that your loved one wore, back in the time when you could only see her for a few precious days at a time; days that were separated by far too many hours. It's the scent left on your pillow that you would breath deep into your lungs, trying to capture its essence forever as the aching nearness of it tore a gap in your heart as wide as the distance that separated you from its source.
And here is another. It is the first time in a new year that winds rush around your house, whipping venetian blinds into a dance, their flailings against the wall providing its rhythm. It is the first time in a new year that the cool sprinkle of rain falls on warm pavement, releasing the spirit of life that's been trapped, frozen, in the earth through the long winter. Like a long absent friend, like a yearned for lover who left you six months ago with a lingering kiss and a promise to return, it comes back to your life and brings with it a passion, a vitality, and a newness of being that your most intense moments of memory-born reverie could only half capture.
Here, tonight, in my little midwestern town, the world has been reborn.
