how to smell like a dog (not as in stink)

there is no way to transmit, or trasmettere, as they say in italian, the smell that this is a picture of. the enchanting light is the closest i can come to telling you, believe me.

but i want to try, because this smell is one of those things that makes the world go around (for me). smells in general can do that if you concentrate and dive into them.

this tree, with its bunches of grape-like white-cream flowers, is one of the last blooms to peek out in the spring. and when it does, it smells a little like a guava tastes, or better, a guava with a heavy dose of honey and some jasmine.

and that is why, as i tell this tree every year i get to meet it again, it is one of my favorite things in the whole universe. and probably my favorite smell. which is saying a lot, since i have the nose of a dog and the passion for smelling everything from the earthy dusty smell of the medieval stone walls here (reminding me of the night under a great california boulder sleeping in the wilderness by myself), to my kitty's breath (the latter a close runner-up on lists of favorites).

one of the ways i discovered to notice smell was to do what dogs do: breathe in and out (but more slowly than they do when they sniff) a few times, concentrating, and you discover that the slight humidity of your breath pulls up even the subtlest of scents, and all of the sudden anything at all-- a small, salty unbleached shell you pick up on the beach, a bit of earth, an old stone wall, a flower with a reputation for not having a fragrance, a leaf, the bark of a tree-- all of them have something to reveal, a little caress.

and then you will delight in how this, your new ability to smell, renders something as already-smellable as the fragrant deep perfume of a garden rose (like those i go bee-like buzzing around from bush to bush to smell in the rose garden here in the san nicolo' neighborhood in the spring) into a three-dimensional, super-powered intoxication that you feel you could literally step into and live in. or at least you want to.

now you know one of my very favorite little tricks. it's one i sometimes teach as part of a drawing workshop in boboli gardens where we activate our senses in order to re-activate our sense of wonder and joy in the small moment, exploring the natural world around us.

this flowering tree is called acacia, i finally discovered after years of just adoring, because its name wasn't important, but recognizing its presence was. we can taste this smell a little bit in acacia honey that the bees make for us.