My car was briefly filled with leaf mold and burlap this weekend, and now it smells weirdly like my childhood. My dad's car smelled like that: full of landscape paint, rulers and compasses and sketches and good pencils for his blueprints, coriander (or pot, never sure) seeds, mulch, beer cans, plastic plant containers... It's funny how transportive scent memory is. I'm right back as a kid.
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It's a busy week. I don't really need to be writing this. Still, it's something to pick at as I sort the nostalgic clutter. It's all in bad shape. A lot of it has been obviously sewn back together. A sheath with the fur ruff of a coat from four years ago. I looked at old pictures today and we all just looked like children, especially me.
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Turner Ashby was a dick, I don't care what anybody says. He was no true knight.
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I drew the knight of wands today, speaking of knights.
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I like this picture of myself because I look like an adult, which is what I am.
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