Cotton fields are a common sight in my neck of the woods, this one is a few steps from my back door. No matter how many times I have seen the cotton grow and mature, I am always amazed to see the cotton bolls that have formed from the lovely pink flowers.
The day that cotton is harvested is a fragrant day. The air is perfumed with an indescribable scent. If only the smell could be bottled. It is a mixture of earth, cotton, and fall in south Georgia. Perhaps the smell holds pleasant memories, and that is part of the reason it appeals to me so much. Whatever the reason, I inhale the fragrance deeply, hoping to keep the smell firmly etched in my memory.
The season is short this year, and quickly coming to an end. The cotton is being harvested and the stalks cut. The fields will be brown and dead for a time, and then one day I will walk outside and the smell of freshly turned soil will greet my senses, reminding me of the delights that await my senses in the months to come.