The good ol' factory

Would I know if I lost my sense of smell?  Since that can happen to people who contract COVID, it's  something to be aware of.  But I'm not sure I would notice.  

Certainly if something smells really strong ("Honey, the fish has gone bad.") or is right up close to my nose ("Smell my watchband."), I can smell just fine.  When I'm out walking and pass a rosemary bush, I love to pluck a few needles, crush and inhale them deeply.  That's one of my favorite fragrances.  When I'm baking muffins or some such deliciousness, I can smell them when they're baked just about right.

But most of the time I'm simply not aware of smelling much of anything.  Would I notice an absence of something I'm not aware of to begin with?

I once watched our little girl cat, the late, snuggly Miss Stachie Lou, tracking something on the living room carpet.  She went back and forth, then in tighter and tighter circles, until she finally found what she was sniffing for.  Bip, her little tongue flicked out to get it.  It was a crumb so small, I couldn't even see it, but she was able to hunt it down by smell.  How rich the world must be for animals, at least for those whose sense of smell is their primary way of finding and identifying.

We humans must have had much more acute senses at some point in our distant past.  But I guess they've diminished, become almost as vestigial as appendixes.  We don't need them so much any more, now that our survival depends more on electricity and almost not at all on our connection to nature.

I wonder if what I'm missing isn't the ability to smell, but awareness.  If I took time to notice, the world, truly notice it with all my senses, which would require an enormous stilling of my thoughts, might I discover more of the richness of the natural, and even the human, world?

Will I be satisfied with speculation, as usual, or will I actually give it a try?  Yes, on tomorrow's walk, I am giving my word here and now that I will be as aware as I'm able, to truly see what I am looking at, to truly listen to what I hear, to smell whatever is in the air.  To let my senses, as it were, stretch their legs and do what they're meant for.