Harvey grew mint in an attractive pot on his garden path. We all know how mint can spread and take over an entire garden. It is best that it be contained. Harvey liked to have mint. It made a refreshing tea on a hot summer’s day. He liked to boil his potatoes and peas with a sprig of mint. And he loved mint sauce with roast lamb.
It was early spring, and Harvey knew that if he cut the mint back, it would flourish so much thicker and vigorous in the pot. He cut it back almost to the level of the soil.
Later he noticed that he could smell the mint, presumably on his hands. But then, even after he’d had a shower, he could still smell mint. The smell became stronger and stronger. It would not go away. It began to affect his taste buds. If he ate an orange it would be like chewing mint. Corned beef tasted like mint. Everything tasted of mint. He could smell and taste mint everywhere and all the time, and could smell and taste nothing else.
And then Harvey began to see green. Everything was turning green. Walls were green, windows we green, drapes were green, his car, his concrete steps. He used to think that mint green was a lovely colour. Not anymore.
Harvey was starting to go crazy. He’d had enough of mint. He picked up his potted mint and smashed the container onto his concrete path. It broke into a thousand bits. The container, soil and dirt lay an eyesore on his garden path. Harvey vehemently kicked everything into the garden.
The mint was free at last. It was what it had wanted all along. It could spread throughout the garden. And Harvey could see, taste, and smell once again as normal.
(Footnote: At last! At last! The time has come to move house! I shall be in and out of blogging erratically and periodically during the next week or so. Daily postings have been scheduled, but I’m going to be in and out of both time and internet reception!)
So often it is hard to imagine what something is like until you’ve been there.
Ivan had a dog, an Alsatian. He always wondered what went on in a dog’s head. It could smell and see and hear so much more acutely than anything Ivan could imagine. Did it have a smell-scape, in a way that we map the world visually and deck it with sound? If only he could be a dog for an hour!
“You wish to be a dog for an hour?” asked the genie who had suddenly appeared out of the paperweight on Ivan’s desk. “Go! Be a dog for an hour.”
THE STENCH! OMG! The reeking stink of every room! Ivan went into his kitchen and spewed his guts out. The unbelievable aroma of putrid crap and rancid food.
Ivan ran outside. Again the smell was overpowering. Thousands upon thousands of pongs bombarded him from every direction at once.
When the hour was up, Ivan was found lying on the sidewalk. Dead.