Snow and Smell

Walking in powdery snow among the trees and through the meadows, the tracks left by mice, rabbits, voles, skunks, raccoons, turkeys, deer, foxes and cats and dogs weave around in a not entirely random dance.

If it were not for the snow, all these paths, all these explorations and forays, all these pursuits, would be invisible to me. In the summer, the same things happen, but I'm unaware of them. There are people who can see these signs even when there is no snow. They can tell you how old footprints are, who was running, who was lurking, who was chasing who.

I live with a creature who is preoccupied with these trails, who always insists on knowing the who and what of these hidden paths, and then overlaying them with his own scent. Most of this olfactory skill of his focuses on food. He can retrace the route of his kibble ball through the house, like a child's toy led on an zig zag path by his nose. But on our walks outside, he passes through a different world that me, which I imagine as a smell scape.

We are blind to the universe of odour, and we have no word for this blindness. We are blind to the evidence of our own passage through the world.