A friend of mine recently wrote about the magic of our olfactory sense(s) over at the Seccesionist Rag in a post entitled, “Smell That??”. He shared his feelings about particular smells and how it made him feel. And no, in this case it is not about being rogerian . There is no denying that smelling certain odors can launch a person into a state of revery, sadness, feelings of sensuality or even fear. The wiring involved in our olfactory sense is quite complex and apparently there has been debate within the scientific community as to whether each of us is born with a predisposed preference to certain odors; do our preferences change with time?… blah, blah, blah. I don’t really care about what the scientists are “dramatizin” about.
Fall and winter holidays have very strong olfactory implications for this Girlie. Being a person of northern origins, most of my life was lived with 4 distinct seasons. Fall, or Autumn as some refer to it, was and always will be my favorite time of year. Look at that picture! I was only one of the millions of children living in northern climes who enjoyed (what is considered obligatory in some circles) leaf play before the ultimate, leaf sacrifice. The air crisp and dry as an overbaked turkey and the scent of those sacrificial leaves….
There is one day in particular, one day, when you absolutely know it is fall – I used to call it the “epitome of fall”. On that day you could make if official. It was nothing cognitively done – strictly a body thing. Reading Mr. Coyne’s post made me realize I had forgotten one of the most important elements that accompanies fall. Living in a quasi, sub-tropical part of the country where the seasons quietly run like watercolors one into the other, I heard something the other day that sent me into a panic. How could I have forgotten?! OMG! Where were they? I strained my ears. Did I really hear them? If I did, why did I not see them? Shouldn’t they be flying overhead any minute in their magical formation?