(This inspired from our trip to Provence in the south of France. The pictures are at the end so you have to read and picture things first. Blogger won't actually let me upload smrlls, so you'll have to imagine those too ;)
I closed my eyes, turning toward the morning sun like a Kansas sunflower. The sunshine warmed the bunches of lavender tied to the doors, amplifying the fragrance of the Provençal village.
I hoisted the baby on my hip, breathing deeply through my nose. I tried to identify every odor; pine, herbs and fruit. I pictured rosemary, laurel, the plum and quince trees we had passed and the silver-leafed olives on the hill. I was sure even a pinch of the reddish dirt would be a pinch of nutmeg.
I spread out the picnic, thinking how much I love French markets. There was fresh crackling bread, smooth sheep cheese with a hint of mowed grass, sun-dried tomato spread and crushed green olives. Crunchy green grapes, with their seeds proof of their authenticity, and giant sweet pears made dessert. Each flavor harmonizing with the odors of the region; this must be why eating local food is such a pleasure.