I love the smell of cow shit.
It’s of one of the gazillion things that are totally subjective but don’t look or feel or smell that way at all.
Things just appear to us the way they appear, and we simply don’t question it.
It is what it is, right?
We see a beautiful thing.
We hear an awful sound.
We taste a delicious piece of something.
And that’s that.
So straightforward, so obvious, so direct.
But it isn’t.
Because my beautiful thing can leave you totally uninspired.
The taste that makes me almost throw up, can leave you speechless from profound appreciation.
What we experience is deeply, deeply personal.
All of it.
Like cow shit.
Which I love.
And I love it because of what it sparks in me, how it powerfully tickles my imagination, how it creates vivid, cherished memories in an instance.
The overwhelming association.
Manure brings me straight back to childhood days that were partially spent on a farm, in the countryside, where endless summers and magical white winters of crazy adventure created a colorful story of untainted happiness.
For me, dung is the smell of joy.
And a sweet longing for lost times.
It’s the key that opens up a precious vault of great stories.
Stuff like that never ceases to amaze me.
The human experience is rich beyond comprehension.
It’s powerful, engaging, involving, touching.
A truly wicked gift.
(Photo by @vincentvanzalinge, for Unsplash)