It’s a first frost on your windshield kind of fall day. The sun creaks above the horizon and the frozen blades of grass quickly melt onto my shoes. Walking out among the mounds, I step back in time.
Encountering The Five Senses And More In The Conch Republic
“That’s the smell of Night Jasmine,” the tarot card reader told us. “Or maybe it’s Frangipani; they both bloom in the evening.”
The Gulf breeze carried the scent away, playfully departing as quickly as it arrived. Replacing the smell was the sound of a dozen weekend gin joints pounding out the pulsing beat of live bands, DJs and the crowded roar of revelers celebrating another successful sunset.