Jack of Harts

I love the smells of northern Minnesota. Fresh pine needles carpeting the ground. Still air after a spring rain. Roasting pinecones in a bonfire. A field full of flowers. A storm front advancing across a Great Lake. They each have their own smell and taste that is utterly unique. I have never experienced them on any other world. Not exactly. Not the totality. The lake country will ever be my home, no matter how far I travel or how many places I see. I spent two decades away from it during The War and it was changed when I returned. But the smells are still there. And I can still close my eyes and imagine the world I grew up in. I will love those smells until the day I die.