Can't you smell that smell?...
Lyrics from one of the greatest southern rock bands of all-time repeatedly ran through my head during this morning's run. Yet, it wasn't the ominous message of self-destruction that had me echoing the chorus, but the simple realization of how many simple smells are encountered on a mourning route .
- The delicate scent of the gentle breeze crossing a field moist with a morning dew.
- The comforting aroma of a well-travelled wood smoke from a distant fireplace
- The clammy chlorophyll choked smell of a freshly cut grass
- The rising whiff from a light morning rain as it evaporates from the warm asphalt
- The sickly sweet fragrance of honeysuckle that seems to visibly plummet from the petals
- The powdery pungent of dryer sheets from the morning household chores
- The repulsive aroma that spins in the wake of the passing Garbage truck
- The rancid stink of road kill that quickly teaches you to breathe through your mouth
- The acrid odor of an overheated engine long ignored
- The mellow sweetness of the morning hay delivery at the horse stables
- The unexplainable fragrance of the grass or weed that smells like a freshly opened can of tennis balls
And the inspiration:
Lynyrd Skynyrd Live at Asbury Park, New Jersey, 1977