Fragrant Quote for December 1st, 2011 from Green trails and upland pastures By Walter Prichard Eaton

This is a season of raking, too, and of little bonfires which send up a pungent smoke at first, thinning to a straight blue vapour as the wind dies and the sunset twines an amethyst veil in the lacy, naked apple boughs. There is still a chill in the gathering twilight, but not enough to drive you to your coat. You draw a little closer to the embers, poke your rake into them and stir up a flame, and then, leaning on your rake, watch the red fire-glows jumping about amid the veined skeletons of burned leaves with the discontinuity of dream images, while far off the shrill of the Hylas rises sweetly from the swamp. Does any but a gardener know this delicious moment of the Spring?

I love to smell the early spring fires from afar, to come out on the edge of a clearing, perhaps, and look across a rolling pasture where a few belated drifts of snow are still stretched like fingers of Winter keeping a last grip on the soil, to some white house and mouse-gray barns, and to watch tiny figures moving about in the orchard, piling the litter from trimming on the fires, which are sending up their fragrant smoke plumes into the air. As the sun drops into the west, these fires will burn low and their gray smoke will be touched with salmon-rose, even as the great white cumuli drifting in the sky above. A little later, and they will glow like red eyes in the dusk of the orchard, but the pungent fragrance of their smoke will scent the quiet spring night long after the flicker of their flames has disappeared.
Fragrant Quote for December 1st, 2011 from Green trails and upland pastures By Walter Prichard Eaton