Memento Mori

The grass was soft underfoot, freshly mowed.  Ismay breathed in its fragrance: her favourite smell. It reminded her of her grandfather, the long walks and horse rides he took her on when she was a child.

For many years after her grandfather died, there were a few dozen smells that reminded her of him. She could still remember the smell of his cheek after a hard days’ work at the farm: sweat mingled with a trace of rolled up tobacco. His hands were earthy when he patted her head.

His scent underwent subtle changes through the seasons: baked apple, cured ham, dandelions, pea shoots, sunflowers, grapes.

Time had been cruel. It robbed her of what she held dear. And little by little, it picked away her memories too. She was grateful that some still lingered, even if only as brushstrokes, impressions, moments captured within.


Memory Pod


Memory Pod

There’s the little blue car
That journeyed to France:
Wind in my hair
And love when we dance.

Here’s that sweet yellow bike
You carried me on,
Kissed my tears away,
Said “You’re never alone.”

Seashells taught me to hear
All your deepest desires;
Keep them all in my heart
Which of you never tires.

There’s the pram that will make
Our couple a three,
And we’ll bud mem’ries new
On the family tree.

Thank you to TheSeekersDungeon for bringing this prompt to my attention: and to Rochelle for coming up with it:
Hope you enjoyed my unorthodox approach to the challenge.
I bid you goodnight 🙂