The sights, sounds, and smells of Asheville…

The tang of Goat cheese as it oozes out of an Omelet and slides into the salty sweetness of the Sea Scallops sitting quivery and golden, and the peppery sharpness of the Chipotle Hollandaise that is pooled under them like creamy yellow sunshine poured straight from the summer sky.

The tang of applewood smoke that you only taste in the very first bite of Bacon, and the salty richness that is the fat released from it’s crusty bonds as you bite into the very best gift a Pig could give us, along with his life.

The toothachy sweetness of the first bit of Sugar crust on Creme Brûlée, and the decadent smoothness, combined with the sharp bite of the dark chocolate filling in that same creamy treat.

Opening the door to the smell of knowledge, mixed with crisp, sun-bleached paper and old ink, and walking through the stacks of used books that you haven’t yet read, and the sharp smell of excitement, peppery and fast, as you choose a selection from the shelf and start to open the cover of a different place.

The sticky, different-tasting sweetness of Agave, melded with the tangy zest of citrus, mixed with the crisp bite of soda water in a homemade soda concoction like nothing Coca-Cola will ever be able to bottle and sell.

The slightly acrid smell of patchouli and young bodies that are likely not as clean as their parents would prefer wafting from a darkened shop that makes you pause at the door and simultaneously wonder whether you are too old to shop there and hope you are not.

The screechy sound that fiddle strings make as a bow saws across them.  When you hear that sound you can also smell the pangs of hunger mixed with slight desperation as a street musician attempts to earn enough change to get him a good meal and a few beers in a town with far too many musicians and not enough paying customers.

The stinging scent of hairspray and cigarettes, mixed with the soulful smell of longing to belong to someone emanating from the group of young hipster girls posing like 1950′s pinups on the sidewalk outside of a darkened club.

The smell of contentment, which resembles vanilla, but with a tiny pinch of cinnamon and a splash of nutmeg, wafting over us as we walk together, where we are still in love.

The sharp stinging salty scent of sadness, like Methiolate, staining my heart pink, as I remember why I love this beautiful place and remember the many people I’ve shared it in the past who can’t share it with me anymore.

The crisp green and swirly blueness of Summer – like apples, and sun dried sheets, and the sweet trickle of sugary water from the first popsicle of May.

Find your sights, your sounds, and your smells – such are the stuff of memories, the stuff of life.  Hold onto them.  And when you smell them again, remember.

Again.

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