Missy smelled dew on the grass.
She smelled the damp earth and yesterday’s rain. The roots of trees, mouldering leaves.
She smelled freshly broken twigs, the scent of crisp, tart, yellow and brown autumn.
And a newly blue sky.
Simply by breathing, Missy understood everything.
A ten-mile-away fireplace, a nearby muddy puddle.
The rising warm sun, startled birds taking flight.
Bees, butterfly wings, the erosions of mountains, dandelion dust and the movement of time.
From beyond the horizon, just as clear as the smell of autumn, Missy sensed infinite things. An unending motion. The residue of untold lives.
She smelled happiness and loss and the atoms of those long-vanished.
She smelled the new moon and hidden stars.
A human pulled impatiently on her leash. Missy followed.
2 thoughts on “Dew on the Grass”
I really enjoyed this one, Richard, though I realized what Missy was within the first few sentences, perhaps because I live with a loony one myself. Really nice word-picture, though. I’m going to feature your story site on my bio page for the next ten days, maybe some more folks will stop by and get to know you for the writer you are.
You have to scroll down to find your listing, but the 650,000 members of the site know that, so with any luck at all, you’ll pick up some new readers. Great work, in any case!
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Wow! How cool is that? Thanks! Have a great day, Jack!