Ode to the Road . . .Kill

As the tires of my Jeep hit the road, a certain piece of my soul is left there. Every turn of the wheel, peels back a layer, even still, another, and another, until nothing is left. Surely, there is some piece of me, remorseful for the many lives I take each day, none so grandiose as a singular ant, or as minuscule as an opossum. Yet when the rubber and the road meet a certain rodent of funk, I’m reminded of the many good smells there are to life. As the whiff of fresh skunk butt tingles my nose hairs, I think of my grandma’s sweet apple pie. The crust perfect and crisp, and the breeze carrying the taste of Honeycrisp and Granny Smith to my lips . . . I mean my nose, though I think the smell is enough to taste it. Another whiff yet, and I’m taken back to grade school. Mrs. Anderson’s sweet smell of citrus and eucalyptus, comforts me still. Her warm embrace at the end of algebra class leaves me yearning to learn more, jealous of the many math lessons she must teach her husband later each day. A cough, and a sneeze, leaves me wheezing, then weeping at the thought of the rain seeping into my tent. My dad’s wonderful camping trips to the tips of mountains mounted with pines. Knowing he can no longer take me is but a tease. In my mind I see the trees, an endless ocean of green prickly leaves. A breeze, so unforgettable, so intense, that every car on the east coast carries the scent hanging from a mirror. Driving still, my windows rolled down, my nostrils aired out, and the skunk butt gone from my seats, my trip down memory lane has ended, leaving me thankful of the many smells I got to smell, rather than this one.