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Every morning, about the same time, Toby takes me for his morning walk. Except for the occasional rain, Baltimore weather is actually quite amiable for this ritual. Even in the extremes of summer and winter, the extremes are not extreme at all, but rather mild. Toby in tune with all of the surrounding activity – sleepy residents making their way in a coffee induced stupor, dogs dragging their intimates anxiously behind and cats peering from windows at the passersby below – prances gracefully like a ballerina beside me, feet dancing across the pavement with a rhythm that I soon get lost in as I contemplate the challenges of my day, my life.
We go the same route every day and view the same sites along the way…
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This morning, as we made our way to Pratt and Rochester it was different. People walked. Dogs pulled. Cats gawked. The sky was clear and the air was fresh. In the cool of the morning aromas filled the atmosphere. Flowers and greenery made their way with their elegances into my sinus passages, their splendor causing me to get lost in their lure. The sights and sounds around me whispered everything was normal, yet something was missing. There was no bread. The natural landscape enticed me to forget the sweetness I had experienced before. Yet, the scents did not satisfy. As I made my way to the top of the knoll hoping that I would catch a whiff of that whimsical waft my mind raced recklessly to ascertain what had gone wrong. Was my timing off? Did my mystery baker only produce their wares on certain days of the week? Had I missed it?
Now that it is gone, the question has to be answered where that fantastic fragrance came from. Perhaps it was a little old lady lost in long-ago, opening her windows and allowing to loom in the air her culinary genius. Or could it have been a perfect combination of random pongs blended at precise concentrations with the exact amount of airflow replicating the esters that deceive my olfactory cells into believing that there is bread when there is no bread? Or maybe, just maybe, it is the aroma from the alter of the Almighty, declaring His presence in a world that cannot see Him, that goes on without noticing His hand. Maybe it is His way of harkening me to press into His presence, the loss of which results in the removal of the sweetness of life. After all, only He satisfies and once you have delighted in Him, nothing compares