Underneath the fallen and decaying leaves of summer is grass. At some point, grass is also joined with moss – and both will pummel my olfactory sense with nothing but freshness.
But while the scent is there, it won’t always reach my nose. First, there are the decaying leaves: until they’re swept and collected, both scent and sight of grass could hardly make it.
And there’s the street scents, mostly made of an amalgamation of smoke, gasoline, and hanging pine-freshener. Summer days and nights are promptly divided by the scents of various foods, too. Morning greets you with coffee, cold milk, or pancakes; lunch with meat and vegetable stews.
And dinner will always smell like home, too.