From the thickets and tangled roots of memory, from places in our minds we saw when we were too small to remember, emerges this stuttering cross-section of layered and entangled synapses; creating a vision of scent. It is a world plucked from a single vibrational change in the symphonic strata of white-noise. A place where sight and touch spark creating something the nose might feel, as opposed to the skin. Or perhaps, a place where the skin is so enveloped by the depth and urgency this light and heat create together, that it entangles and catches those synapses while their guard is low and beckons them, ‘hear this, feel this, do not merely see this.’
Say what you will, I believe those long gold strands that fold mellifluously down through the air to pour over the lucky surfaces bathing underneath them, carve a smell in the air.
Warm, gold, cleanliness and comfort. Honeyed with the promise of a fresh start, a new day, an uncurling blade of grass stretching up into the place where the light is thicker. Perhaps it is not a scent that exists due to the right particles hitting the right place in the nose, but a scent cast from memory. This synesthetic effect percolates in the mind: Offering something so familiar yet so unknown to us until that offering becomes something like,
A childhood memory, the feel of sun-dried laundry, warm sheets baking underneath a window.