As he stood there, his nose tingled. Not from the chill of the autumn air or the breeze that had wrapped around him. It was that smell. The unique scent that wafted from the ground as Mother Nature was tucking herself into bed, ready to hide away for the remaining month of the year, to escape the oncoming snow. She'd drop her leaves, like clothes to the floor, and slip away, waiting to be enveloped by the snow, to hide beneath it.
Her aroma was his favorite part.
She smelled sweet. Like the blossoming leaves in her forests. Thick and pungent, coating the inside of his nose. It reminded him of his mother's perfume, when he was younger, sitting on her lap, or as she leaned down close to kiss him on his forehead to say goodnight. He felt connected to her - through the pollen in the air and the freshness that escaped her leaves.
He also loved how she smelled of rot. The leaves that had fallen - the pieces of her that she had shed in order to bare herself to the snow. It smelled organic - real. It was the kind of smell he couldn't escape even if he tried. It lingered in the air, ready to bombard those who tread outside. It surrounded him, hugging him, reminding him that Autumn had arrived and that the frost on the leaves would soon turn to inches on the ground, and the patches of clouds overhead would soon turn into a blanket of grey - Mother Nature was preparing him for her departure.
He was always sad when she left at the end of autumn. As much as he loved her sweet and her rot, he loved her because of the memories the two smells brought back when they mixed in the air and entered his lungs. They reminded him of his mother. She'd so delicately hold his hand as they hiked through the woods, finding the brightest leaves on the ground - the "screamers." They'd stop and listen, picking out the animals that were scurrying around them. When the breeze picked up, she'd bend down and pull his collar up around his face, protecting him. He always felt safe with her - even in the middle of the woods. They'd collect their findings and bring them home and laminate them, decorate the house with them. During winter, even with absence of life outside, those few pieces reminded him that spring was on its way.
As he stood there, he smiled. He had no memories with the shiny slide ahead of him. That he didn't care about.
All that mattered was the smell of the air. Every time he took a breath, he was with his mother.
As if he was lost deep in the woods with her again, his hand enveloped in hers.
My tears are falling like autumn leaves. I can't help but think of the woods behind the houses in North Adams and in Dallas. What a beautiful story, and a beautiful memory. My heart is "screaming" to see you again.
ReplyDeleteAs I sit at my desk, there is a screamer outside my window - a sugar maple that holds oranges and yellows. Against the grey sky, it looks like neon. And, I think of you, and your brother, and JK.
I am so glad I will see you in 2 weeks - I think my heart is ready to break I am missing you so.
ieyu, ilys.
Loved the story. When are you finishing the last one? I miss it.
ReplyDeleteI love the fact that "She smelled of rot." I know exactly the smell and the freshness in the air.
Although I didn't walk with you and your mother, my grandma always pointed out the smells in the air, the color of the leaves, what the clouds looked like during each season, and so on.
You always make me smile.