Walking home tonight, dark on a balmy late September night, and there was the hint of marine air on the breeze, but only if I tipped my head up a bit, much like I've seen my cats do when they first go outside. It seemed to float and waver, inconstant, at the edges of all the other scents: the yellow-dried-lawn scent, the dust-of-no-rain scent, the dropped-plums-fermenting-on-the-ground scent. The urban exhaust. A simmering dinner from an unseen kitchen. A suggestion of roses.
Marine: salmon and mussels and oysters. Kelp, salt, crabs.
Yesterday evening my two dogs were outside lying on the grass, both looking in the same direction. Suddenly they both turned their heads backwards, put their noses up in the air, and had a really good sniff at something that had just drifted over. I, of course could smell nothing; I wonder what it was.
ReplyDeleteSynchronised sniffing.