Olfactory

Sept 15 2019

The dogs scamper ahead

zig-zagging down the path,

noses pressed to the ground

pin-balling edge to edge.

It has just rained

and the moist earth is redolent.

It feels like a cathedral

in the cool damp shade

beneath the over-arching trees,

but instead of incense

there is the scent of decomposing soil

fungal spores

the wet fur of animals

that passed in the night

the day before.

Because smell is a time machine,

so as the dogs follow their noses

they're exploring in 4 dimensions,

creating a map of the world

to which I was born blind.

Even one molecule

is plenty,

lingering in air

or puddling in mud

or drip-dripping above.

We hear music

differently than words,

no processing

or second-guessing

as they enter the mind directly

ear to brain.

The olfactory nerve is the same;

passing freely up the nose

and allowing the brain

to breathe in the world.

A lifeline, out to the light

from this fatty lump

of white and grey matter

locked in its bony crypt

black as darkest night.

So my dogs inhabit the world

literally,

absorbing its substance

molecule by molecule.

While I stand off to the side

and watch,

marvelling

at the symphony of smell

and the soundtrack of time

their glorious noses compose.