ElfeLotta

"Woah!" my brain thinks. "Cinnamon!"
And then, "That's a perfume? Ow yeah, ow yeah, ow yeah...!"
And then, "Moo moment... Why cinnamon? You always think of cinnamon whenever anything even remotely smells like winter spices."
"Okay... Hmm... cloves? Anise? Cardamom?"
My brain gives me a wry grin. "Do you really think you can tell them apart unless you have either the thing itself or the spice jar with a tag in front of you?"
And then, "It doesn't smell like a jungle now, does it?"
"I don't know. Maybe? Have we been there before?"
"Close enough..."
"Okay, so not jungle?"
"This place lacks the warm, musty, wet, don't you think?"
"Uhh... I thought there was maybe... a little...?"
Decisive shake of the head.
"Egaaal!" it shouts loudly between them. "ZIMT!"
"It's a lot more than just cinnamon, sweetie."
"Egaaaaaal!"
"It doesn't really smell like Christmas spice now, does it?"
"No. It's missing the heat from the oven."
"And the vanilla."
"Huh?"
"Well, croissants and stuff..."
"How many brain parts are actually involved in this conversation by now?"
"Again!" the nose enthusiastically intervenes.
So wrist headed, lifted towards nose -

And that's when the hippocampus appears on the scene and opens the memoir...

"Ohhh, where have we landed now?"
"A bit of a jungle already, isn't it? Rainforest?"
"We know cold rainforest. Remember?"
"How come we've never been to Morocco before?"
"Shh!"
"But that's how I imagine it there," whispers from behind. "I'm sitting on a windy hill in Ireland thinking about Morocco?"
"Like where what now? Ireland?"
"Mmmmmh..."
"Oh! Oh! That's almost like - like..."
"Nose! Again!"
"British Mixed Spice!"
"But without nutmeg..."
"Best Carrot Cake from the end of the world. Top of the Lake!"
"Ohhh yeah... It wasn't warm then either."
"Well, yes it was. It was the middle of summer."
"Still, snow fell the one day. We went up a hill and faced an icy wall!"
"Yep, that's exactly what it smells like. Even the summer heat always retained a hint of coolness. Carrot Cake was always in season, so to speak!"
General wistful sighing fills the mental halls.
"But it doesn't really smell like Carrot Cake."
"No, of course it doesn't. There's nothing sweet about it. And like I said, it's missing the heat-"
"Moooment...!"
Another general sigh and almost suppressed excited giggle from the back row. A triumphant whispering chant, "It's getting warmer... It's getting warmer...!"
"It still doesn't smell like Carrot Cake."
"Dusty."
"Is that the infamous 'powdery'?"
"For heaven's sake! No!"
"Ah, okay..."
"But by now there's a hint of vanilla, don't you think?"
"It's getting sweeter... It's getting sweeter...!"
"Well, I knew you'd be pleased."
"But not too much of it, will you?"

"Guys!", I finally interject. "Just be glad it doesn't smell like the elephant house!"
Startled silence.
"Now, quiet down here..."
I sit back, sniff my wrist once more, and close my eyes with a satisfied smile.

With a muffled -Wum!- the hippocampus flaps the memoir shut.

One scent remains...
...and stays...
...and remains...