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.