The sourness of mountain surfaces and the crunchiness of raw, plain-land breeze. The velvety strips of night, specifically encircling the toughness of a moon crater. All the world's scents that thrive on your fingertips. Ah! The ever-changing aroma of the Northern Lights, so cold and mystical, and the defined truth of summer afternoons, the stickiness of Jalebi molasses, which leave translucent patches on my palms.
And then, I shall venture into wildflower evenings, where the "wildflowers" pose as botanical representations of the myriad hues of sunset. Over there, I shall ponder over my character. But, the character has departed, leaving me to stuff the world's fragrances into mere words.
a misty moment
of migrating birds