This week's sample comes from Katherine G. The selection comes from an exercise where we ask students to write about a picture but without appealing to a particular sense. In this case, Katherine had to write about this garden scene without appealing to the sense of smell. Read it to the end; you'll appreciate the last line.
Grass weaves between my toes, beneath my bare feet. I reach out to touch the delicate petals of a small flower, soft like a tissue. My fingers move down the plant's stem until a jolt of screaming pain rushes through my thumb. I've been stabbed, brutally wounded by a hidden thorn. A raised bubble of blood rises from my fingertip. I suck my thumb, trying to make the pain go away. I sit on the dewy ground, marvelling at the beauty and danger of the garden. The silvery backs of leaves on the trees blow in the slight spring wind. Everything is warmed and rejuvinated by the warm, bright sunlight, down to its core. Clouds dance lazily across a cornflower sky. I can practically feel the pollen drifting through the air, a yellow-tinged breeze. I know this moment is a moment given, to think about everything and nothing at the same time. To let my insides warm as the sun rises through the sky. To smile in spite of myself at the natural beauty of everything around me. It's times like these when I really regret losing my sense of smell in that freak Segway accident three years ago.