The sea churning up a storm with winds ferociously
whipping the wave tops into white foam, sending a
salty freshness, belying the power of ominous forces.

The rain pushing forward a dust storm in the desert
billowing, it appears apocalyptic and brings an earthly
musky scent of the world remaking itself.

The scent of love in a springtime afternoon, bringing
life-love of two together as one, in the connection of
bodies, heart and soul.

The leather glove with oils and dirt and the scent of
something that was alive, and lives on in an extension
of a young boy’s hand, living to play.

The dog that played outside with us, wet with the
experience of summer grass, the muskiness of a
spirit unchained by nothing but the will to play.

The lingering presence of fried foods, the scent of
tobacco in a pouch and the curls of smoke that
find attachment to childhood memories.

Until arriving at the beginning where milk is the
ever-present earthy scent, the promise of life
the promise of future and of growth.

And back to the present, where my socks, post-
workout or long-walk capture all the experiences of life
and are purportedly apocalyptic… and unresolvable!