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.