Monday, February 27, 2012
An interesting feature of the medieval-style ring I wear is that after tending a few campfires the scent of woodsmoke gets trapped in the scales of the armored face for a day or so. Because our olfactory sense is closely wired to emotional parts of the brain, one wiff transports me from insular, lame "civilization" to vivid, primordial existence. Instead of half asleep at work, I'm on some wilderness island, axe in hand, with roaring blaze to stave off mist. Loons call from the fog and I've got miles of lake and river to canoe ahead.