kanji

11 May, 2005
my funky welcome mat

about halfway on the way to work, stopped at a red light in deepest, darkest Reston, i had one of those moments of crystal clarity-- i may not have been where i really wanted to be (understatement of the year), but as far as conditions were concerned, it was pretty good: barefoot, t-shirted and cargo-shorted, in the car, temperatures in the low eighties, windows open, cathartic blues music on the noontime public station drowning out traffic noises.

back in motion, past the windows strobed colourful streaks of azalea-viburnum-dogwood-paulownia.

funny, though, how there were no identifiable smells... no sweetness, no stink. made me wonder if it wasn't all artificial, staged. of course, it all changed when i entered the oriental market. it was plenty real, there. the only place in miles where all of my senses worked at once. strangely enough, it made me recall mowing the path through the woods, back at mom's... where i encountered exactly the same range of scents.

it will be the opposite environment, on the night drive home. particularly approaching Culpeper. closing in on an intersection, the dual-lane passes by the sewage treatment plant... the fragrance, only to be described as "nostril peeling". it's as if everyone spends the evening dining at TacoHell, dessert of a box of Twinkies/DingDongs/DevilDogs/MarshmallowSnoBalls, washed down with rotgut wine. and they all flush as soon as i get within sniffing distance.

once past the nasal assault, after a left turn, then a right, the unmistakable sweetness of clover respirating in the dark fields settles like a perfumed hand on the chest... a much preferable moment of clarity.

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hit me with your rhythm stick




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