Date: Wed, 5 Jul 1995 23:28:29 EDT From: nose to the grindstone Subject: SUB: The Elusive Scent (a prose) Comments: To: the hounds ahem--a quick sketch? tink +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= The Elusive Scent Copyright 1995 Mike Barker Until I smelled them, the first day after a long weekend in summer had left me drained. I was tired before the day started, discouraged during the day by people carefully continuing the same stupidities that they had started before the holidays, and too stubborn to give up my dreams of finding some hints of value and worth somewhere in the daily grind. The walk home was a slow stumble as I thought back over what hadn't gotten done and what unfortunately had. I paused with others at the traffic signal on the corner across from the hotel. That's when I first smelled them. I sniffed, then peered around, wondering just who was wearing that perfume. Or was it perfume? It seemed almost too fresh somehow for perfume. The light changed and the smell vanished again as I crossed, a part of the lazy dance of cars and people. I grinned a little at the old man who glanced sideways and back in concern, then slowed to let him step up on the curb ahead of me. He scuttled off as I shrugged. On the curb myself, I hesitated. Left and straight would take me home quickly. Right up the stairs would take me to the shopping center--people in their guise as consumers, mere economic animals on the hoof, pushing their pitiful loads of multi-colored cakes, eagerly rushing to see the next ring of the daily circuses. The merest vagrant wisp of scent tickled my nose as a gust of wind blew down the steps. I smiled, lifted my head into the breeze, and went up the stairs. At the top of the steps, the parking lot spread. As I stepped out onto it, there was a wisp of scent, then dullness again. I shook my head and started across. A moment, two painted aisles, and a glance at the truck sitting parked in the corner with the man in a blue uniform. That's when the wind shifted again. Sinuses filled with the smell of summer freshness. A smile tugged itself up across my face as my head came up and I looked around, suddenly realizing that the trees along the edge of the parking lot were in bloom. The green edge overhanging the elevated lot had a golden undercoat made of masses of fragrant florets, not just a glow from the afternoon sun. I turned away from the direct line I had been making from one corner of the lot to the other where the grocery store is. I walked slowly over to the trees, breathing carefully, deeply, trying to taste the rich cleanness that the trees shared in their excitement. I don't recognize types of trees, but they were heavy with tiny yellow blooms in the late afternoon sunshine. I'm sure very few people noticed where the smell of summer was coming from, in the heart of Boston, under the frown of old buildings on Beacon hill and the already worn gaze of the development at Charles River Park. But I'm sure those trees lightened a few hearts and moods. And I found out that the dance of woody dryads smells just as sweet here and now as in fabled days of yore. Even after the holidays. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= incidentally, before anyone tells me to buck up, life isn't that bad--the "I" of the tale and the "I" of the writer are not necessarily the same...the "I" of the tale is much taller...