Monday, June 28

still, she warms me

She smells of milk and wood ash and sun-dried cloth. Marie has never used a bottle of perfume. Her hands are big, nicked from sharp knives, roughed by bleach. Her back is hard as a plank. Still she warms me.

-Louise Erdrich from the short story The Plunge of The Brave

I read this short story last night and thought of this line as I dabbed on perfume this morning. What are the natural smells that stay in our skin?

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