Fragrance Quote for February 8th, 2012- From Windy Gulch by Vernon Kellog

All through the night there is singing; and there are odors. One lies drowsing, and listening, and breathing fragrant, soothing balms. The spruces and the pines, and some mint-like, square-stemmed plant, and the smooth grass-leaves, and the nodding wind-flowers, the fresh, damp ground, and the fallen dead trunks, all breathe out sweet smells. And a subtle, musty, elusive odor, which makes one dream of old days, and sad days: is it the breath of the gray granite walls? these primal rocks, lifted from the earth's deeps in some awful ancient catastrophe, and since then scarred by ice and laved by waters and breathed < m by the winds of ages? And through the odor-weighted air, the soft singing of the wakeful stream; telling of its snow-fountains on the dark summits of the Range, of its creeping among the alpine buttercups which cling to the very verges of the great snow-fields, of its fearful leap over some sheer arete to its uneven way down the canon. And it sings of other things.

"Bubble, bubble flows the stream,
Like low music through a dream."

A faint singing is high above on the side of the canon; or is it the singing of the east wind among the aspens' leaves? It is a familiar singing, but whether of bird or leaf or wind, one cannot say. Is it, perhaps, the stars which sing, that peer so sharply into the canon? They keep time with their twinkling to their singing. Or is it after all but the stream? It is a familiar singing.

"Bubble, bubble flows the stream,
Like an old tune through a dream."
Windy Gulch by Vernon Kellog, Fragrance Quote for February 8th