Every so often, in the winter, the Puget Sound gets a “polar express” wind from Alaska. I don’t know whether it is a scent or an absence of all the usual scents, but everything smells different: clean beyond fresh. The skies were an amazing clear, fresh, clean blue (“The bluest skies you’ve ever seen are in Seattle” was probably written about days like that.) They are rarely ever that clear any more.
Growing up I lived on the north end of an island in the Puget Sound so the wind came over miles of water and hit without taint or impediment. I lived on a trail not a road. Coming home from school on those clear, cold days when I got to the top of the trail I would spread my arms out and run down into the wind.
Often life was not great: my mother suffered from depression and home wasn’t pleasant a lot of the time; I was painfully shy and hated school. The trail through the woods was a place I loved, between two places that were not so great. When I ran into that clean fresh wind everything felt right. It blew everything away and running into it was heaven. The feel and smell (or lack of smell) from the cold, north wind always takes me back to that feeling.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “The Transporter.”
I can picture it. You described it well.
When I was a little girl, I had to walk through a dark road before reaching home. I had so many nightmares about that dark road. Most of the time, I ran through it with my eyes half closed. 😉 So long ago…
LikeLike
Thank you.
LikeLike
I love those north winds. I always feel better when the wind comes from the north, like it’s bringing in fresher air or something. You’ve done a great job describing that phenomenon!
LikeLike
Beautiful. I recognize myself in you description, my childhood walks in the wind come back to me.
LikeLiked by 1 person