The same walk. Three different mornings. Three different senses.
My house to the library: sound
As I neared the street (head down as to not be disrupted by the alien foliage) I was nearing the ocean. The hum of engines transformed into the roar of waves lapping up against the shore. The noise grew louder, the waves bigger until I was just inches from being able to dip my toes in the water (no water, just dust). Squealing breaks were seagulls and the horns of angry drivers suddenly were calming (ships off in the distance). I crossed the street and moved further away from this gentle lull. Unrecognizable chatter from passers by became audible as I strained my ears to hear the waves. They were lost, but I began to recognize the soft patter of rain. Sprinklers watering foreign grass formed a tunnel in which I could exist. No longer was I in Tucson, but some faraway shore. Two spaces at once, neither of them home.
My house to the library: smell
It had not yet rained, but the monsoon was coming, you could just tell. The moisture in the air amplified the smell of the earth. Before I would simply say that it ‘smelled wet’, but today I realized the complexities of this wet smell. The richness of the dirt was potent and I noticed for the first time that hot asphalt smells differently than asphalt when it’s fresh. Most notably was the distinct fragrance of each tree I passed beneath. Leafy trees smelled vastly different from those in bloom, and the odor of each flower was just as unique as its shape. I knelt down to collect a few petals from the dirt. This reverie was broken by the exhaust of a bus, which (unfortunately) was amplified as well.
My house to the library: touch
The touch of the sun on my skin overpowered all else on my way to the library. At first it was kind, then it became increasingly relentless. The air felt stale and sticky, though not nearly as humid as home. Most interestingly was the moment just before I began to sweat. I could feel it before it happened, something that I have never noticed before. I felt a coolness rising from within me, working its way slowly to the surface from my deep inside my bones. Still my skin was warm to the touch. The slightest of chills ran down my arms before moisture crept out of my pours. Only moments after this occurrence, I entered the cool, crispness of the library and was overwhelmed with the dance of hot and cold upon my flesh.