Tuesday, June 26, 2012

Ooooh that smell...

Ooooh that smell
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

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