Sunday, March 25, 2007

Metallic Mountains

Rachel smelled like water. Really! Wherever my aunt walked, there was the scent of fresh water. It was an impossible smell, green and delightful and in those dusty hills the smell of life and wealth.

- Anita Diamant
'The Red Tent'

I have just returned from my weekend at The Blue Mountains smelling of smoke from the log fire and red wine and cheeses that ooze (and the walnut sourdough they ooze across), and clean rain and elderflower tea.

AC says the chemotherapy coursing through her veins is made of platinum, and tastes like her mother's wedding ring. Everywhere she goes a metallic smell is with her, in her, she exudes the same aroma as the well-worn tools in your father's shed or old coins rubbed smooth by years of circulation. (I imagine, or in sympathy) I taste it and smell it too, my mouth and nostrils fill with trace elements, the lingering metals of tea brewed in a silver teapot or soft bubbles of blood when you bite your tongue.



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