Close Your Eyes and Tell Me What You Smell

The smell of hay drying in the fields, my dad's garage where he repaired farm equipment. The woods in the mornings when we went mushroom hunting. My mother's cinnamon rolls baking that we could smell when we got off the bus, which made us run in the lane instead of usual dawdling along.

The smell of yeast in breadmaking; the smell of bread hot and fresh out of the oven; my mother’s Italian meals; my father’s big, fat Cuban cigars;  Eucalyptus leaves when crushed; roses in the garden; birthday candles when extinguished; wildfires; seaweed at the beach.

The smell of my Mom’s chicken soup on a cold rainy day.

The smell of lead pencil reminds me of back to school as a kid.

When I close my eyes, I smell the rain. It's earthy, it's rusty, it's flowery, and it's smoky (Canada wildfires still in the air). Today, the first day of Summer, brings no sunshine, only rain. And, that's okay.