The irises are nearing the end of their bloom, and for several weeks now we've had an array of them in tiny vases on the work table, every color a different scent: grape kool-aid, root beer, cotton candy. And now that the roses are coming on, the table is scattered with pinks and golds, a blush of pale orange, and again the parade of scents: apple and lemon, mango, clovey-spice. Every one smells like something else — it's a game of imposters, and from day to day I don't know if I work in a candy factory or an orchard.
Match the paint on my palette to the color of the flower-of-the-day, and it's a full-on sensory affair, with an aria playing in the background.
The only thing missing is ice cream — heaping bowls-full, in every conceivable flavor.
(I'll have to bring up this fact of our Ice Cream Deficiency at our next staff meeting.)