Winter Saturday morning, Santa Fe

I wish I could identify the scent, but it seems I can*t.  Once again I am reminded that smell is our only unmediated sense.  It does not go through our brain to be processed.  It just is.  Again this scent smells like what I know heaven smells like.   Not mediated through the brain... I*m not sure heaven ever is.

I woke to the same scent         

I remembered from two summers ago,

Except it is winter

With snow.

It seemed to be

On my pillow

Except it wasn*t.

It was also not

On anything else

I smelled.

I went on a scent hunt

Through the bedroom.

My sister says she smells roses

When Mary arrives.

It was not roses I smelled.

Like last time

Just like last time

It smelled

Like Heaven.

It is winter.

There is snow.

Heaven still makes itself

Known.