Ft. Collins smelled familiar today.

Instead of the agricultural and cow crap smell that usually drifts from the east, freezing above the city, and seeping in through your windows and into your hair, this was different.

It was chilly air and an almost sub-tropical aftertaste. It will reach 60 degrees here today, and that spring wet smell that always precedes that kind of warmth began to trickle in. Because a train had come through just before my walk to work, there was oil and railway grit on the roads, and my shoe slipped a little in a greasy puddle as I crossed the tracks. The roads smelled dirty and sweaty and industrial. Because the sun was out and the weather was turning warm, local Caloradoans decided that this morning was the perfect morning to wash and work on their massive SUVs, and the air smelled thick of organic car soap and the sweet and grimy smell of dirty car parts and the urban essence of exhaust. Because it had been cold and windy last night, some people had forgotten to turn off wood-burning stoves, and the sharp twinge of cedar hung in the trees, and even the smell of cinnamon and ginger from local bakeries was trapped in the low-hanging layer of morning chill. The city smelled thick and dirty and sweaty and industrial and humid and foreign and almost exotic in its spicy urban morning.

You know what it smelled like? Morocco...