details in the morrow...

A sense of place can erupt from aromas, and flavors. Orange groves, mangoes and mangroves. Recollections of distant times and expired geographies. Sometimes the poetic fanfare, favors sight over smell and taste. Sometimes the sense of place implodes rather than erupts. The presumptive monotony of a morning walk along familiar and neighborly terrain, quickly dispelled with the glistening collapse of a spider web, a whitewashed bouquet lurking in the shadows, and a giant butterfly sunbathing.