This land is dead.

(Experiences from my last visit to the Island of St. Lucia).

I can smell the fortitude of the river- the melding of the nutrients: the soil and the water — a catalyst that cuts through the mind — the cutlass blade glancing across the granite stone.

I can smell the dampness in the soil — It nourishes my soul. I can taste the sickly sweetness of the perfume of the mombin fruit. Alas, these are memories from days gone by, for now, my sense of smell has gone. I stand, asking why? Where are the scents that used to infuse my mind and enrich my soul? The pictures that emerges in my head are no longer the same; the colours lack the richness and vitality they once possessed — they are now pale hues.

I walk through the forest but can no longer smell decay. Where are the aromas that I used to find foreboding? The trees are still and silent, no wind blowing through the canopies. Alas, I can no longer taste the stillness and humidity. No birds singing, gone is the sharp fragrance of the unripe fruits — the acerbic taste seen through the vivid green skin. Gone are the overbearing perfume of the ripen fruits — that used to cleave through the senses.

I can no longer smell the decay — for there is no life here, no fruits, leaves, tree barks decomposing, the effluvium from rotting animal flesh — the sharpness that used to tear the fragile membrane of the sinus and wrench the stomach muscles into spasms. All these have disappeared for this land is dead.

Interested in people, nature, science and technology, and history. MSc in Research Methods (Birkbeck), MA Industrial Design (UAL)

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