After a cold, occasionally sunny weekend, today is the third morning of freezing fog. Three mornings doing the ice-scrape tango to the gentle hum of warming engine.
Out on the back roads, untreated, tyres have occasion for metaphysics. Twice Monday, once today, the car forgot about following the commands from the driver's seat. Not much; enough to be mildly disconcerting, enough to give warning of worse to come.
The air, cold, has gone stale. What air we have has been used already and contains memories of its last user. Traffic smells; the stale stench of burnt pig bedding (transmuted from smokey-bacon flavour to bacony and old smoke). Even indoors there is a lack of freshness: the admin ladies miasma, the unsubtle edge of washroom disinfectant, laser printer ozone and a thousand applications of fabric conditioner. It is unhelpful that I'm recovering the olfactory landscape after a cold last week. Odour returns, only partially welcome.
No comments:
Post a Comment