I was feeding my baby and, as I often and rather obsessively do, smelling her hands. Whichever hand is free I reach it up to my face and drag it over my mouth and nose. The feel of the soft, sometimes tacky skin combined with the smell not only tells a tale of her eating but is also a powerful tonic for me. Sometimes she is bothered by my doing this and pulls away her hand. Other times, especially if she is falling asleep as she was on this occasion, the hand is all mine. On that morning I smelled tahini and oranges. In that moment those smells were ancient to me: earth, sand, river water, moonbeam, firelight, tree root, blood, tahini, oranges.