I inhale the musty smell of this old house

it embraces me with its dry skin

we sit and tell stories about this basement

where we played when we were kids

and grew to lose control over life

Its familiarity eases my mind

and it reminds me about when

we forgot to hide the wine

and how we'd always lose track of time

our parents didn't mind

It then turned quiet, seeming sad

beginning to cry, it told me

it just misses being around us

but it's okay old friend

thanks for having me, soon I'll visit again

i was born

without a sense of smell.

the aromas that

the other children danced with

were ones i never got to meet.

there was no telltale sign

of past rain.

there was no birthday morning

with the smell of bacon.

i never got to befriend

the candles my mom put out

at parties

or meet up with

the smell of my dad

cooking pancakes.

i never made friends with the smells in my life

because i never even knew they were there.

i watch people laugh as

they recall their childhoods

with just a twitch of the nose.

some people say smells are like

old friends,

forever keeping you company

and reminding of good times.

if that's true,

then i have no friends.

but it's never bothered me

because i never had any

to begin with,

and maybe i'm better

on my own.

after all,

maybe i won't have friends to laugh with

to play with,

to love with.

but i also won't have poisoned friends,

bad smells, bad memories, full of

toxic waste and

fire-tinted nostrils.

i had no choice

in the way that i am.

i guess my very essence

repels those who might wish

to befriend me.

if smells were friends, then

i'd have none.

but at least i don't have

any enemies.

But the arboreal awakening of 2021 has shattered any hope of silence at night. The awakening has given trees the ability to talk and hear what we are saying, as well as communicate with other trees.

The challenge is that they seem to instinctively understand the language of humans, but so far nobody can understand their language. With the awakening, they have also developed the ability to make small motor movements: so they shake their leaves when afraid or seem to dance to popular music.

At first it was thought of as some epic prank, the sounds that the trees made, but soon we all learned how serious this problem could become. At night the younger trees babble to each other nonstop while the older ones shake the walls with their mighty snores.

But the real challenge lies with the trees that are diseased or damaged; everywhere crowds of good Samaritans gather, like those wanting to save a beached whale, yet nobody knows what to do.

In my yard a century old oak speaks a guttural foreign tongue that sounds like German. When the wind blows or storms pester him, he groans like he’s pulled a muscle. He yells a string of curse words when woodpeckers poke at his bark and laughs when squirrels jump from branch to branch, so he must be ticklish.

Today I spent some time at his base, looking to find some sort of mouth or eyes, but there are none of those. Somehow the sound comes from inside and they hear through their leaves. I’m trying to learn how to speak his language, but progress is slow. The neighborhood children have discovered how to tickle him, I hope this is something he can learn to tolerate.

california smells different

a musky smell of dusty palm trees

swaying in time to shallow desires of fame

cigarettes put out on cement sidewalks

people sighing about social dilemmas

and fashion choices

the los angeles streets running all the way upstate

into car windows and our collective consciousness

san francisco ocean waves

the boardwalk a pale fire at sunset

sand dispersed in waves of contemplation

a sadness and promise of better things

to come to those

who saw this state

as a re-do and new start

Crushing ’til fragrant

Pours summer’s sweet vessel

Desert the mortar

His raindrops a pestle

Sunlight his oven

Bakes peach cobbled skies

Stained with blackberry clouds

As the crust starts to rise

we may have five senses

but within the workings of just one

from just a simple essence...

a powder, light in the air

sits in my heart; love- the measure of a ton

Este Lauder - Youth Dew

four generations of us -struck down

the very whisp of it intoxicating joy

in it’s presence, not even grief can be found

it has a hint of dust to it-

in it’s purest form

and maybe a bit of the chemistry

when on her skin was worn

Never over powering

how delicate it must have been applied

it’s fragrance still now lingers

as if she were still alive

her children loved it

and their’s did too

all the great-grandchildren

in common we all have -

the scent of Youth Dew

It fills me with memories

the smell- warms my soul

her last box & puff, I have-

wrapped secure, as if of gold

Sometimes I will open the lid

not lean in too close

let the silky powder free

to find it’s way to my nose

It smells like love and tenderness-

like holidays and joy

it smells like kindness,

through the nose- right to the heart

lingering on all the grandkids

the girls and the boys

It is a scent that wakes your brain

one that will never leave me

charming and old fashioned

she wore the scent since 1953

.....

Side car to this, showed up in a Google question

What does Estée Lauder Youth Dew smell like?

If you do know Youth Dew, you know that it smells viciously balsamic, almost like sweet motor oil — not a scent you might associate with cookies, knitting, & other traditionally grandmotherly pursuits

My Gram was entirely unlike all other traditional grandmothers, so that made me especially happy after missing her so.

Why?

'Why?' what?

Why are you always in my room? It's creepy.

To have a roommate?

The fact I don't have one.

How is that scary?

First of all, I said creepy, not scary.

Same difference.

That's not the point-

Then what's the point?

THE POINT IS-

Why are you yelling?

The point is, I don't have a roommate, right?

Right.

Right, so why are you always here?

I don't know.

Okay, so if you are here, then why does no one else ever notice you?

Wow, that's creepy!

I know right?! It's almost like that's what I have been trying to tell you!

Then why didn't you just say that?

Keyword: trying.

Oh, I get it now.

You are so annoying.

I'm sorry. All I want to do is help you.

How?

I know you think too much. You get so stressed, the thoughts push against your head, and it hurts you so much.

...

I just want to help you.

...

I want to take the pain away, I want to calm you down.

You're so sweet.

I thought I was annoying?

Yeah, you are. Annoying, but sweet.

...Yeah.

one of my grandfather's chess sets was ornately carved, with scrimshaw on the whites and careful etching on the frame. the pieces were all hand carved, none was alike, black and white, king or pawn. strangely, it smelled of talcum powder. i have a strong memory of playing with this subtle, light, ellusive scent. it is much rarer today. barbers and hair salons stopped using it, so is it discontinued from being used as a deoderant or certainly as baby powder. perhaps it is one of those things that are gone for good. but once i catch it, i go back to the good old, toxic days, where chemistry was mostly unknown in its consequence.

sniffing a chess board, i must have scared my grandfather..