One of the benefits of going for a run, particularly at the pace I keep, is noticing the subtle signs going on around you.
A few mornings ago, it was a faint whiff of stuff growing. I don’t know how else to explain it. Might be an early pollen of some kind, or a fragrant flower. Or cut grass. Maybe all of it. That is the very thing we miss by being in our cars all the time. Literally stopping to smell the proverbial roses.
This morning, there were a few older men standing around chatting with an idling GTO in the scene. Had a collector car plate. Who knows the year? My husband would ask me. I just don’t think it is important to the story in any way. As I ran by, I smelt gasoline. Maybe they had been working on the car earlier. In any case, I was instantly transported to a sunny Saturday morning of my childhood. An old car, my Dad fixing something, the odour of puttering around the garage.
Memory is a funny thing. Sometimes, what seems to be so important can’t be recalled for anything. Then a faint smell can bring back memories, decades old. Makes you wonder if the brain knows what it needs to remember. Those fond memories are sticking around for a reason.