When I stuck my nose out the back door yesterday, the air was sharp with cold. I caught a lingering drift of woodsmoke from a chimney. White snow glittered on the deck, and the dry, frigid air smelled like it had been scrubbed clean, like every particle of moisture and pollen and dust had frozen … Continue reading Sniff the air
When we lived in the D.C. Metro area, we subscribed to The Washington Post. It landed on our stoop with a thunk before dawn. Reading the paper was part of my morning ritual: make coffee, unfold the newspaper, open it up, and read while I sipped coffee. The paper rattled as I turned pages or folded … Continue reading Sensory deprivation
I was drinking tea a while back – a blend of white tea, orange peel, and exotic spices – and as I stood over the cup, pouring steaming water over the leaves, a delicate fragrance bloomed into my nostrils, and I was in the elegant Orient. I remember the day we bought the tea. I … Continue reading A world of pleasure. In my nostrils.
I sat at the kitchen table with my journal, and when I looked up, I saw hand prints on the glass door, horizontal lines of blinds, square pattern of tiles, vertical lines of the fence. There were shoes strewn about on the porch, trikes parked haphazardly, toys littered everywhere. If I turned my eyes back … Continue reading Too much to see