I approached a tattered church. The doors and windows were boarded up, discarded clothing and trash were strewn about. One sad tree stood in front. And the air smelled like strawberries. How? I stopped. There was a low breeze. Unopened mail skittered across the dirty sidewalk, past my feet. It was unmistakable. Strawberries.
Very much like this.
ReplyDeleteLovely.
ReplyDelete:-)
ReplyDeletexo Jane
evocative.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful story, like a ray of sunshine.
ReplyDeleteThank you.
ReplyDeleteI'm intrigued - were there wild strawberries growing in the undergrowth...or perhaps there was 'something' in the air that gave one the 'scent' of strawberries....?
ReplyDeleteIt was basically concrete, all around, so it have been that scent in the air.
DeleteOr magic.
Delete:) I like magic
DeleteI've wondered what would be the scent of holiness.
ReplyDeleteI like the way you wonder, Rachael.
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