Karthik

Memories are very slippery. I have one of an old campfire almost perfectly recreated in my mind. It contains every shine of the fire and every face huddled around it, but it's missing something. The visual components allow me to look back on it and I often do, but they aren't enough to relive the exprience no matter how much I try. Somtimes, though, I get close enough to catch a whiff. The charcoal, sweaty bodies, sweet wilderness, and wind combine to form a scent that can't be replicated. It's natural and artifical at the same time. That's all I get before the smell flutters away.

The way hawks hunt is very similar. With a target in mind they dive down, talons out, ready to feast. I must be a pretty shoddy hawk because my memories are always a step head. I grasp at them knowing what I want, but they always manage to escape. Despite this, I'll enjoy those few seconds the smell lingers. It's the closest thing I have to a time machine.