whiffings

I have stalled out my MG 1600A on a bridge high over Bayou Nezpique and in the midnight-black dark, a darkness filled with lives, buzzings, wispings, whiffings, far down below the bridge you could smell that blacked out bayou's flow, an ancient odor of prehistoric life that lived within the flow of that bayou, that bayou on that night with the invisible face--its face seen in its smell.

Flows The Daily Growler 2006