AROMA:

I smell mince pies whose pastry was made to a recipe 
passed on by an woman who lived in the forest with her
home made jams & cakes & dogs & mould & home made wines 
& towering oaks & succulent mosses & holly wreathes & the 
low ‘thud-thud-thud’ of a diesel generator.
Today they taste of Heaven.

(K)