scenthound ovenbird There are days, now, when I wake with heightened senses. This is probably related to the erratic fluctuations of my aging hormonal system and, if so, it’s a fascinating, though strange, development. This morning I sniffed the air, wolf-like, cautious. There was a smell of rain, the soft bodies of worms, dust, the distinct mix of sugar and rot rising from an overripe banana. My hands held the scent of iron leftover from using a steel wool pad to clean my sink last night. There was a hint of tobacco smoke wafting through the open window, drifting from blackened lungs soaked in arsenic far away. There was the sour scent of fermentation, a sudden whiff of mildew, the dry grainy solidity of oats, the acidic tang of tea, and the dark richness of cocoa which I could almost taste before it hit my tongue. My dog settled into my lap smelling of familiar oily musk, comforting and impossible to describe. I went for a walk. My whiskers shivering. My paws steady on the sidewalk. My nose knowing everything my eyes were too dull to grasp. 260603 what's it to you? who go blather from