SMELL OF PENCILS I reek of pencils. I smell of pencils. I collect pencils— thousands by now. My first, a drawing pencil, French: Conté, forest green, an HB. Hone from cedar. Smells like incense sharpened. Shavings fill the sharpener. I throw them on a fall fire, a burning pencil smell— of pine resin or old mold. The lead doesn’t smell like lead. A mix of graphite and clay, its burn can stink of sulfur, paint impurities. Between my finger and …