The dreaded day of the removal of my favorite scented neighbourhood feature has arrived. This pile of old lumber (and metal accoutrement) had, until today, been sitting by the train tracks a block outside my front door for perhaps a month now. And for whatever reason, be it its place of origin or some feature of slowly rotting wood, every day since its unexplained arrival, it gave off the most lovely and intoxicating smell. This resulted in me taking in huge gulps of air whenever I walked past or caught its scent downwind, as I practically live for the opportunity of being even momentarily transported back to White Rock or Montauk. But now the train has started running, and so the city gods have deemed it time to take away this aromatic safety hazard. Sigh, times infinity. If I weren't sitting here pining after my lost...pine, I would've put on my best wool, pleated, and voluminous garments to just go stand in the spot where the wood once was, hoping to soak in what's left of the landlocked sea air (while also covering up against the mosquitos, who are likely also in mourning for losing their best breeding grounds).
This outfit would've consisted of a wool jacket (this formal silk-lined avant garde tux by NY-based designer Michael Brambila would've been very appropriate for the sad occasion), a silk top (this one featuring a gill detail by hier apparel would've been best with the maximized surface area), a voluminous skirt (with my ArtLab skirt definitely being the best candidate, for obvious reasons), and some wool leggings (with my mydearthing Wool Circle Seam Pants being the obvious choice - I didn't want to wash these for a few days after returning from NY last time, as I wanted the smell of Brooklyn to linger a wee bit longer). But, alas, it is now raining, and so, at best, I would just smell of wet clothing. Again, sigh.
So long wood, may you rest in peace.
