Place where you pass from one part to another

The metals, fumes and gases that fill workshops and foundries have partially damaged my sense of smell, so I recall with nostalgia the smells I perceived as a child when I would return to my great-grandmother’s farm in the cart.

Fabulous smells of earth, water, newmown grass and also of horse, stone and snake.

But above them all there still floats in the air the brilliant, sharp, metallic smell of the scythe blade, very much like the smell of my iron sculptures.

Alberto de Udaeta Font