I am having one of those sense memory experiences.
They seem to happen for me a great deal in summer. It must be the warm air tickling my skin and nose hairs, and rustling up odors and sounds that hearken back to “Dayes of Olde”, as I have taken to calling my life before kids.
They range from
- the sound of a float plane crossing a still, blue sky
- the rustling of deciduous leaves in the afternoon heat
- the musky odor of forest dirt, stirred up by a sneaker on a path
- the blast of cruise ship whistles in the harbor (we have a lot of ‘em here in the summer) [Read more…]