Out into the Fog After the Cleaning Session
After spraying, the first thought is: "Is it the frog glass cleaner, finely misted, or is it the Octenisept layered with a hint of Light Blue?"
Admittedly, not a groundbreaking experience.
Disappointed, the sample wanders to the corner of the desk.
What a betrayal!
Frustration overwhelms me - I had hoped for a fine, cool mist, something like "a lonely September morning in the field," perhaps even a small hint of moss and forest. Instead, this familiar odor of chemistry set after a skinned knee...
But I am soon enlightened: fog does not only exist in Central European pampas fantasy.
After a while, the molecular disinfectant cacophony calms down along with the drugstore perennial, and somehow I now think of a foggy October morning by the sea - not directly on the beach or at the harbor, but just above it, somewhere towards a viewpoint along the coast, on a quiet country road.
It is a slightly chilly morning; it rained overnight after a somewhat warm day. The cold, humidity, and yes, the fog mix with the ozone-like scent of evaporating liquid from the asphalt. The sea blurs in the fog, it is green to gray-blue and invites more to melancholic contemplation than to swimming. The lichens on the cliffs below the coast beneath me smell earthy and a little bit of salty sea.
Thank you for the olfactory journey back to the coast in the off-season, Mr. Sorcinelli.
Admittedly, not a groundbreaking experience.
Disappointed, the sample wanders to the corner of the desk.
What a betrayal!
Frustration overwhelms me - I had hoped for a fine, cool mist, something like "a lonely September morning in the field," perhaps even a small hint of moss and forest. Instead, this familiar odor of chemistry set after a skinned knee...
But I am soon enlightened: fog does not only exist in Central European pampas fantasy.
After a while, the molecular disinfectant cacophony calms down along with the drugstore perennial, and somehow I now think of a foggy October morning by the sea - not directly on the beach or at the harbor, but just above it, somewhere towards a viewpoint along the coast, on a quiet country road.
It is a slightly chilly morning; it rained overnight after a somewhat warm day. The cold, humidity, and yes, the fog mix with the ozone-like scent of evaporating liquid from the asphalt. The sea blurs in the fog, it is green to gray-blue and invites more to melancholic contemplation than to swimming. The lichens on the cliffs below the coast beneath me smell earthy and a little bit of salty sea.
Thank you for the olfactory journey back to the coast in the off-season, Mr. Sorcinelli.
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