Saturday, 20 April 2013

Freshly fallen leaves.

There is something unique about the smell of freshly fallen leaves. It is a dark and mysterious scent, earthy and fragrant at the same time---not quite decay or mildew, but not a fresh scent either. I am reminded of the days I spent running in the Gardens. Among ancient trees and cracked bridges I found the meaning of life, and a hidden footpath showed me the journey to eternity.

It is a comfortable smell, but with a hint of adventure.

Then there is something familiar about petrichor. The smell of wet earth after the rain. Like a soft mist raising from the ground, tranquil yet powerful, extending to my nose and to the heavens. I am reminded of a sleepy marketplace at the edge of the town; its people stretching up to a cool morning after last night's storm. They breathe in that scent of new life, from the first drops of the new day. Hands work systematically to arrange soulless fish and shells, and plucked vegetable and roots, to be bargained by mothers and virgins.

It is a homely smell, with a tinge of hope.



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