September 30, 2016 by phicks2012
I was tooling along in The Beast the other day with the windows open wide (remember, I don’t have working A/C in the old girl) and the radio beating out classic rock. I’d just stopped by the local feed store, and as I drove along the circulating air carried with it the scent of the hay I had piled in the back of the vehicle. I found myself sighing and inhaling deeply. Yes!
Pleasant smells tend to soothe, and smells of all sorts tend to trigger memories. In this case, unfortunately, one of the memories stirred was of a former housemate who (bizarre though it might seem) always complained that hay “stunk” — but then she also said the same thing about scented candles, fresh sawdust, and most herbs. Go figure! I gave up on trying to figure out what she thought smelled “”good”. Jason says probably money, but that’s another story.
Fortunately, I never agreed with her various olfactory assessments, and the smell of hay for me triggers a sense of peace and relaxation. I think it smells wonderful, and when I thought about it I realized that there were (and are) rather a LOT of things I think smell great, so I decided to celebrate some of them in verse. Enjoy the poem below, also to be published in my SCA Newsletter (The Equinox) if you will!!!
Upon a breeze the scent of new-mown hay
And flowers blooming on a summer’s morn;
The rain that washes dust and care away,
And cleans the air too long by nature worn.
The scent of linens drying in the sun,
And coffee brewing on a winter’s day;
Of new-sawn wood where forest rivers run,
Or wood-fires burning, or a rose bouquet.
The smell of sweet vanilla, mint or thyme,
Or cinnamon that dusts the baking bun,
The breath of evergreen at Christmastime
Or babies sweetly soft, with bathtime done.
The yeasty memories of baking bread;
The scent that lingers where the lilacs climb,
Of steaming cocoa when it’s time for bed,
Or chicken frying near to suppertime.
When we inhale, redolence breathing in,
Our memories by fragrant ways are led,
And we remember reveries, and then
Our souls upon ambrosial dreams are fed.
[01 September, A.S. LI, 2016]