Bottled Memories

Grey blue haze and twisting twirls of wood smoke,
Punch deep into the solar plexus of my memories.
Which smell would you bottle?

Wood smoke is mine.
It wraps my soul with evocative twine.
Childhood memories
That first Peter’s Gate – the smell of wood smoke and fresh scones;
Misty tendrils and mountain damp replaced by the encompassing welcome of wood smoke.

Bushveld braais
Hardekool burning,  unseen yet white hot.
The rich smell of steak. The clustered glossy starlings with their Hitchcock eyes.
The canopy of the camelthorn with its ironically delicate pink and yellow blooms.
I am there when the memory bottle opens.

Agatha – the escape from the summer bushveld into the mist.
Gum trees and woodsmoke.
Fresh scones,  delicate china and the faint tang of tea.

And here at home, wearily returning in the winter dusk.
The smell of woodsmoke and the sudden heat on cold cheeks.
Chicken soup
Refilling the Memory Bottle.

Which smell would you bottle?

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