When I was a girl, all the pockets would simply rip out of my clothes because I was always stuffing them full of rocks. Odd-shaped rocks. Olivine. Quartz. Shiny bits of mica. Pahoehoe lava with ropy, iridescent swirls.
At Burning Man in 2017, I found myself reading tarot cards as a part of Circus Combustus. Our camp sat next to the Esplanade, the main inner road that rings the temporary city in the middle of Nevada's Black Rock Desert.
The practice of burning bay leaves dates back to Greek times, to the best of my research, and it's believed to be one of the herbs burned for the Oracle at Delphi as she entered trances for temple visitors. Doug and I visited Delphi on our honeymoon in 2003, and so this scent is now indelibly overlaid with image of the olive trees that dot Delphi's landscape.