looking up the deep backyard hole

speaking of whiffs, as in 'somehow...', (I've) been cooking, and tasting whiffs as I go. Or this particular brand, or this particular batch, has a hint of that taste, reminiscent of the country I've been exiled from, becomes my unknown favorite. A degree of humanity already, to let it become favorite, and another to have it unknown.

Have I already mentioned about repeatable experiences, about tea, the same circle every time? about the ocean: a different way in which the scale of detail helps it be the same later.  I tied a barrel sling around my tea yesterday (Haven't settled on which edition of Ashley's Book of Knots to find yet but I hear it's in there under #459, #2176, #2177), imagined lowering it down a backyard hole to a waiting friend. Having tied a knot, or felt one, it's logic is absorbed somewhere, sensitized to it's particular complication. Pulling up bights, in anything [e.g. language], did I call what the bights do 'humanity'?

This question echos weirdly, throwing loops in  the rope, hoping at last to hitch onto something. I think I might have.