Scent

Sometimes, rather often, actually, I get these vivid scent sensations. It's not, in fact, a scent as detected by the nose, but a mental scent, so strong, so present, that it transports me to another time and place. I smell the water of the lake we used to swim in, the rocks on the shore, the large, flat boulder we lie on to warm our skin on its sun-baked surface, the drops of water on our skin, dampness dripping from my brother's red hair to the pock marked stone, the lively breath of the forest all around, the clutch of roots to pungent earth and the bite of pine whispering and singing in the air. The faded green lichen clinging to the edge of the boulder. The contented breeze. I am both here and there. I am where I cannot be again.