The facecloth sky scrubbed us awake for our slow walk on a boardwalk through a peat bog where we swallowed a whole morning – gluttony for the eyes.
We kept away from narrow trails cut through cattails. Instead, we sniffed spent peat breath that Black Spruce and Tamarack couldn’t freshen. Their needles poked the bog where fallen blueberries lay rotting among rosemary shrubs and Labrador Tea, releasing acid digestion.
We sang along with maple divas in their season finale chorale and felt the applause of aspens and semi-precious birches shaking the air. 
It was a wild lollipop morning and I waved a fuzzy- tongued bulrush. I was undone by the decomposing bog breeze that wafted across the stewing leaves and briny stumps. The morning perfume of putrefaction – a reminder of now, not later – settled in my hair and soaked my wool socks.
Thanksgiving. Air stuffed – surfeit – the stinky cheese and crackers of life. Replete.
redosue 
Ah, ‘a wild lollipop morning’. Fantastic wee phrase.
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Thanks, Ms. Cheer. I was trying to convey the strange tension between the beautiful fall day and the burping stink of the bog and swamp which was also lovely in it’s primordial way. It was like the day was a big Thanksgiving turkey stuffed with stale bread that is remarkably transformed into something delicious.
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Love the ‘facecloth sky,’ Sue. Lovely.
Being an inveterate Dionaea muscipula grower, I have grown to like smell of fresh sphagnum moss.
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It’s a complicated smell to be sure and as we walked through it my nose tried to dissect the different components. Impossible. But it’s a beautiful sight although it doesn’t photograph well unless you can get right down into at eye level to snap all the tiny things that grow in a boreal bog.
Why am I not surprised you grow Dionaea muscipula?
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And don’t forget adventitious mushrooms found in bogs, adding complexity to the scent.
Dionaea muscipula:
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