Here’s a little writing excercise we did in class today, writing about smells!:

“How does this smell?”

“Hmm… Quaint.”

“… What?”

Larry Jenson had a seemingly designless system of describing things.

In this case, his definition of a perfume scent, Curve by Liz Claiborne to be exact, struck him as quaint. However strange this might seem to an outsider trying to properly align the reasoning behind him saying this, there was in fact much reason behind that definition.

To him, it smelled like a house might, or rather should. Of course it wasn’t the smell of any ordinary house. It was a cliff side cottage, nestled in a sea of green grass and twinkling wildflowers, overlooking a magnificent body of water. Not the sea, the sea was too menacing, but a sizable body of water none the less. It smelled like a cliff side cottage, overlooking said body of water, with low ceilings, and warm rooms full of earthy tones. The aroma was fresh, like the unravaged English country side (or what he would assume it to be like), full of the soothing flavor of undirtied air and a hint of a cool humidity. The quaintness was nearly entirely spawned of the water. The water was pushed by the gentle and playful hands of the wind, and the wind lifted tiny drops of water into the air. And as the water rolled along the thin rails of wind, it caught pollen from the rolling green grasses and bits of the nature amongst it, and that scent was carried by the jovial hands of the wind to the front porch of the earlier mentioned cottage, like a child carting a newfound creature to display to his mother. Inside the cottage, a large bird – a turkey, for instance – was smoldering over an open flamed pit. The scent of that was pushed through the crack between the frame and the heavy oaken front door, out to the porch. The mouth-watering, golden, juicy scent collided with the cool, humid air and began to tussle with it, tossing fake punches and weaving through it, until it mixed into perfect, delicious, unconstrained, harmonious bliss.

“Uhm… is that good?


“…I think I’ll try another.” Mrs. Jenson stated with concern, and turned back to the aisle, shaking her head ever so slightly.

Larry slightly tilted his own head in response to her gesture, slightly shrugging away the slight displeasure of forgetting his imagined world so abruptly, and followed his wife as she frantically explored the overgrowth of the perfume department.


About theonlyjoe

I am Joe. This is a collection of my ramblings, poems, stories, afflictions, victories, and the picture of my mind. Make yourselves at home. View all posts by theonlyjoe

One response to “Quaint

  • Mark

    You should post your stuff on deviant art, it much more likely to get read, no offense. Anyway, like I said the first time I read it, really nice job, man.

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