Smells like laundry, blackberries, fresh cut grass.
Your boots in the grass. A light breeze guides you on your way. And yet there’s nowhere in particular to be. The comforting scent of laundry wafts across the yard. You pick some late-season berries, so ripe and juicy you have to lick your fingertips like a kitten lapping up milk.
It’s your day.
It’s where you belong.
And it’s all okay.
