#color 1

[frogitivitypride]

You choose:

Red Yellow Green Blue

[kyokaramaohlovewolf]

Color 1

[andsoshespins]

Series of Smelling Colors?

Among the many group text chats ringing out from my phone throughout the day during this pandemic, one of my friends jokingly said in one, “Dear Diary, I’m starting to smell colors.”  And after my laughter at his dramatic reaction subsided, I thought it might make for good writing fodder: a series of writings about smelling color.  Let’s see how this works...or doesn’t...you decide...whoever you are...

Color 1:

It is her perfume woven loosely into the fibers of the shawl she wrapped around her shoulders for the all pretense of propriety but none of the modesty as a flushed face does little other than betray the woman who wears it.  It is the scent of wet buds that will not bloom this spring, having met their demise under the sneakers, heels, boots, and loafers that have trodden over, smeared, and tracked their remains far away from where the wind had originally fell them.  It is that hard-candy smell of plastic and fake fruit.  It is the smell of a home that has been threatened, what you inhale as you rush towards the danger rather than away from it.  It is the cold-but-not-refreshing-air that reaches your lungs, for your nose senses it is tinged with metal, and the hairs on the back of your neck rise.  It is stifling, every whispered scent traveling across the hot room raises the din, it’s almost daft to think stale air so pungent.  Sometimes it might even smell like fresh shampoo in the sunshine, stray strands catching the light among otherwise dark locks.  It hangs over the wolf in the woods, as he crouches over his latest catch, or that tainted-meat smell that lingers in the alley behind the butcher shop that has been closed for months.