Sometimes I just want to write about tiny details. Today those details are all olfactory. They are the smells I encounter in the dark. My sense of smell is heightened in the early morning before the sun has risen. I notice more, and not necessarily with my eyes, but with my other senses. My ears and my nose become more acute, more alert at picking up resonances. The first of these smells is the air. The morning air is, more often than not, sweet and clear and clean, though the direction of the wind can make a difference. I walked over the Buarth this morning, delighting at a reflection of three lit upper floor windows thrown across a neighbouring wall. I love to see the town from the height of the Buarth. I can see the sea, the town clock and the glittering of lights. Coming down the hill past Holy Trinity and then through the little passage that takes me towards The Avenue, I caught the sharp stink of new paint. Emulsion, I think. There’s no damp leaves smell yet. In fact, there aren’t many leaves on the ground at all. Walking along South Road and then cutting through past the trailer of gigs that is always there, I made my way to the harbour. Salt and fish and the mucky reek of stored nets and lobster baskets hit me, as it always does. Brine. Briny. The stink of the sea, strangely hot and sandy. Sticky like salt on the skin and the hair.
Was I a dog in a past life?
