Outside my window, a man is cutting the grass. The distinct oder of new mown grass, brought inside by the ever active air conditioner, is difficult to describe.
How would I describe this smell if I wanted to convey it in a book? If a reader has experienced it, they wouldn't need additional information. But what if they hadn't?
Which brings to mind all the other smells one encounters. How to describe them? Sweet, acrid, sour, stink--are about as far as I get.
The smell of fresh cut grass doesn't fit any of those descriptive words. Pleasant, pleasing, eliciting a memory--maybe.
A memory like the time--I must have been around twelve--when I was cutting the grass--with a push mower--and distrurbed a snake. Encountering a snake in the wild sends me into screaming shaking fits. I abandoned the mower on the spot and ran into the house.
Talking about snakes, there was the day I was riding my bike along our country road and spotted a Blue Racer in the center of the road--smashed across the pavement by a car. I got off my bike and stood there--several feet distant--and stared at it for a long time before deciding to turn around and not take a chance the snake wasn't as dead as it looked.
Hmm. Memories. Lots and lots of memories. And creating new ones every day.
Bargain sale on Amazon for Brompton Manor, Starting From Scratch, and Bed and Breakfast Blues.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment