Scents cling to memory like smoke to hair, the good and the poison both. These fragrances possess me - they sharpen my edges until I'm all nerve and want, then dissolve me into the slow honey of moments worth savoring.
Palo Santo burning on mornings that bite at my toes, its smoke curling through my rooms, exorcising yesterday's ghosts from my bones. Incense bleeding through daylight hours as I work, the scent thick and hypnotic, weaving itself into my thoughts. And then there are the wild roses in oil - as if they are surrendering to billowing breeze.
I let these scents anchor me, coaxing smiles from places that have forgotten how, causing my heart to flutter when it was normally silent and still. They resurrect memories I've buried deep - memories that claw their way up through the earth just when I've convinced myself they're dead and gone.
This is my life now.
A Witch's Song.