If there is one smell that could describe my life it would be wet dirt. Maybe that is a strange thing to discuss. But, I have always been fascinated with the smell of wet dirt. Wet dirt reminds me of my childhood. When I think of wet dirt I think of the breath of life. Wet dirt was my mother’s garden as she watered her diverse and humble looking flowers. The scent flashes my memory to dirty nails from plotting mud cakes with my older sister, Rebeca (always spelled with one C). For some reason, not from my own recollection, but from my mother’s, it makes me imagine my eating dirt as a child (I know quite disgusting and overly revealing). In wet dirt you can smell water. You can smell the potent strength of what water can do to the almost invisible smell of dirt.
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Manuel won’t let me wear it because he says it smells weird, but I still have that solid perfume… the one that smell like dirt. I love it. It reminds me of you. Sometimes I wear it to work …with all the hospital smell going on, it’s quite refreshing, I hate the stale smell of hospital, and the claustrophobic feeling you get being inside one. The wet dirt smell is great here. It’s fresh.
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