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(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.
