the scent of beautyPosted: June 17, 2013 Filed under: cycling, figures of speech | Tags: clover, cycling, perfume, remembering, springbrook prairie 29 Comments
I rode again around the Springbrook Prairie path. Each day it differs in a hundred ways. Around one corner I slowed, the scent of flowers tempting me to stop and reminisce. It smelled so pure, innocent with just a hint of honey. There were no trees about, and I scanned the grass and weeds nearby. It was clover, sweet clover, the scent of the perfume of the prettiest girl in school when we were young.