| March 31
|
One of the first things that always hits me about this city, whenever I walk through the streets, is the smell. I had bad premonitions beforehand of what noxious urban odors would be invading my senses: car exhaust, trash, asphalt. I wasn’t entirely correct. There’s something else present in the air. Every restaurant carries a cloud around it, bread and soup seem to spill into the sidewalks themselves. Trees and flowers scattered about add a certain depth to the air you can’t replicate any other way. And when it rains, there’s the inexplicable scent of sand. I don’t know why, but all I could think of when I inhaled during today’s shower was that it smelled like sand. This city is one sprawling paradox, with miles and miles of concrete lined with trees taller than most around Forest Oaks.
I never had any intention of opening up this journal again. But after a day here, I knew there were too many ideas and images flowing into my head to hold on to myself. This city is poetry in motion. It would be such a waste to simply let my thoughts slip away.
|
