Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • Springtime in Georgia means blooms and bees and birds. And the scent. If such an overwhelming, heady combination of floral scents were trailing a woman, we'd probably call her a tramp, but Mother Nature gets a pass. I was just walking down the street, minding my own business when a sweet jasmine musk scent enveloped me. It was almost difficult to breathe because the odor wafted so thickly through the moist air, as a light rain had just fallen.

    Like some kind of addict, I went in search of more plants of its kind, to enjoy their sweet scent as well. It masked everything: the dog waste that lazy people refuse to pick up, the putrid scent of garbage bins still sitting on the curb after trash pick-up day, the home-cooked meal someone was whipping up two doors down.

    If only we could bottle up that scent and take it with us everywhere, life would seem so much sweeter.
    • Share

    Connected stories:


Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.