Pine boughs

On my way back to work after lunch, a City of Bran­don truck passed by on the street, car­ry­ing a load of fresh­ly-cut ever­green boughs. Just for a sec­ond I smelled sawn pine, faint­ly, and I felt a momen­tary touch of nos­tal­gia, because pine was the wood of choice for Dad, whether he was in the shed at home or teach­ing shop class. It was com­mon wood: soft, inex­pen­sive, and ubiquitous.

I grew up smelling cut pine.

Then it passed and all I could smell was win­ter in the city again.