Masters Thesis

Gildoro

It was the smell that was the difference. Pine. Aspen. Dogwood. That was it, Or maybe it was the way the layers and layers of leaves packed together, making inches of rich soil mixed with silver-brown pine needles. And bergamot. How could she have forgotten the fresh minty smell of bergamot? Yarrow, too. And goldenrod. There were hundreds of growing things, already changed from green to gold, from gold to amber, and all of them were a part of it. It was the smell of the forest. The fragrance of this special place, so distinctive, so well-remembered, and she had been yearning to feel it in her nostrils and to taste it in her throat again. Always, Forever.

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