The Scent of a Soul

This might be strange. Bear with me. Imagine, if you will, the fabric of space and time, filling the universe in all directions. Then imagine a person moving through it. In the imagining, focus on the force of life that binds all the physical molecules of that person together, so that the image of the person is simply light. As the person moves, there is an energy signature trailing out behind, a chimera, a trace of the interaction between the person and space and time. Call it the scent of their soul.

This scent would mix and mingle with space and time and would bind to anyone touched by the person, think a hint of sandalwood or lavender, of rose or camellias. It would cling to things. It would collect in the nooks and crannies of places where the person lived, or stayed, gathering in corners, drifting about in pools on the ground, waiting to be discovered by anyone who recognizes the scent, who knows the source from which it emanates. You could follow the scent across space and time from birth to death, if you desired, thin in the beginning, heavier toward the end.

Why do I say this, venturing into what some would call metaphysical gobbledygook? Because yesterday, as I walked out into the yard, I began to cry, unbidden, and for only the briefest of moments. I wondered what brought it on. It was as though I had walked into an unexpected rain squall. The thing that came to mind, as I thought about it through the course of the evening, was that I had walked through the essence of the missing wife, blown together by the winds of time from all the places she had walked in the yard and around the house. It was the scent of her soul. It was strong, I missed her, and it made me cry.