for providing “The Scent from Her Kitchen Still Lingers” for our writing prompt.
John Lightle is a Texas writer, poet, and photographer who spends many hours sitting on his woodpile contemplating. When away from his frame shop, he schleps his artwork among area art shows. The job takes him across the countryside, occasionally overseas, photographing the quiet resolve found within the golden hours.
Success smells sweet, that's what they say. Always thought that meant like apple pie and cinnamon, or fresh chocolate brownies. Hell, even like the whiskey breath he belched out every night before he, y'know. Had me. I know better now. Success smells like blood and the cordite from a forty-five.
At nine, I was considered too young to attend my grandmother's funeral. When I picture her now, she is picking peaches from the tree in her back yard, which she canned and cooked. Grilled peaches, peach jam, peach pie. Warm from the oven, with a scoop of vanilla ice cream.
"I can feel it approaching, like a breeze penetrating my nostrils. I've known this sensation since I was a child. I've felt it many times, in the mountain air, in the woods, in the river, the sea, in my mum's hair. I feel it in the air as spring approaches.
My memories of Nanaw will forever center on her kitchen; where the smell of bacon and biscuits lingered all day long, to be joined by the fragrance of fried chicken and potatoes, cinnamon and apples, hot chocolate, love. The best compliment ever is to hear my kitchen smells like Nanaw's.
It was dark; he couldn't move, he couldn't breathe. He only smelled something— it was the scent of his cat.
"Look, he's coming to."
Three months in coma, doctors decided to disconnect him from life support. They brought the cat to say goodbye; she snuggled up to him, and then he came to.
Thanks for sharing this, Justin- I'm not familiar with John Lightle's work. But your writing here has prompted me to research his work. Hope you're having an awesome week-
FLASHBACK, prose poem
There was a time when every road led to him. I followed the scent of pine needles and patchouli, dry sage and manzanita — and there he was.
A part of me will forever be that blazing young woman in thrall to him, to his beautiful body and his glad grace.
Beautiful, Sharron.
As soon as I saw the word “patchouli” that smell memory invaded my brain. Funny how that happens.
Then you know what era I am talking about, Caro.... ancient history.
😉
‘In thrall’. So evocative.
Beautiful!
Venice, CNF
In Venice's winding canals, the briny sea air mingles with ancient stones, creating its own perfume.
An aroma of freshly baked pastries at Colussi Il Fornaio, sets my stomach rumbling in appreciation.
With every step, history’s essence casts its spell, and I’m glad I’m here before Venice succumbs to time.
You’ve transported me in fifty words, Caro. Evocative!
Lovely, Caro. For me, the perfume of Venice is Baccalà alla Vicentina con Polenta. Madonna Santa! Thanks for the memory.
Winning (fiction)
Success smells sweet, that's what they say. Always thought that meant like apple pie and cinnamon, or fresh chocolate brownies. Hell, even like the whiskey breath he belched out every night before he, y'know. Had me. I know better now. Success smells like blood and the cordite from a forty-five.
Oops, my reply got kicked below for some reason.
Holy crap, John! Not a doubt in my mind -- he deserved it, the bastard!
I've been watching Fallout. The writing for that show pulls no punches at all. It's inspiring :)
“Morning Bakery” (CNF)
I worked in a warehouse. For breakfast, I’d buy orange juice and a packaged croissant at a deli.
Walking to my job, I’d pass a bakery, long before it opened. The smell of fresh bread, pastries and pies floated through the air.
The taste of my pastry paled in comparison.
That must have been an absolute tease every morning. Great story, Rich!
Bread-poem
My sister got into
Making bread
Many years ago.
Then life became
An obstacle.
Children, work, a
Scheduled life,
All complicate
The simpler things
In life.
I can go back
Any time in
My memory and
Sit and eat
Unbuttered bread
With her.
I can smell
That still warm
Bread.
Lovely, RI. A very sweet poem!
My Achilles heel. Still warm, freshly baked bread. Yum 😋
mmm. me too.
Scent of a woman ( a poem )
Scent of a woman, tousled in sauce
An artist's delight, flourish and a toss
The pan is bubbling, with a promise to delight
Can't get over the fragrance, I'll be late for my flight
My parcel is sealed, close to my heart
The scent makes my eyes moisten and smart
Lovely work, Sunil!
Thanks Justin!
"Grandma's Peach Tree"
At nine, I was considered too young to attend my grandmother's funeral. When I picture her now, she is picking peaches from the tree in her back yard, which she canned and cooked. Grilled peaches, peach jam, peach pie. Warm from the oven, with a scoop of vanilla ice cream.
Beautiful, Lia! Thank you for sharing!
Breeze, prose poem
"I can feel it approaching, like a breeze penetrating my nostrils. I've known this sensation since I was a child. I've felt it many times, in the mountain air, in the woods, in the river, the sea, in my mum's hair. I feel it in the air as spring approaches.
"Home"
My memories of Nanaw will forever center on her kitchen; where the smell of bacon and biscuits lingered all day long, to be joined by the fragrance of fried chicken and potatoes, cinnamon and apples, hot chocolate, love. The best compliment ever is to hear my kitchen smells like Nanaw's.
Certain smells evoke memories of my grandma, too. This one hits home, just like Lia’s story above. Lovely work!
The smell of life. Fiction.
It was dark; he couldn't move, he couldn't breathe. He only smelled something— it was the scent of his cat.
"Look, he's coming to."
Three months in coma, doctors decided to disconnect him from life support. They brought the cat to say goodbye; she snuggled up to him, and then he came to.
Thanks for sharing this, Justin- I'm not familiar with John Lightle's work. But your writing here has prompted me to research his work. Hope you're having an awesome week-
Thanks so much, Thalia. John is a great guy and an incredible photographer!
A killer final line! Loved the progression of this one!