If I could choose any scent for my favorite perfume, it would be the smell of strawberries wafting over the fence on a warm summer afternoon.
Just down the road is a huge patch of those ruby gems, ripe and smelling like heaven.
Workers straddle the rows or crouch between them, fingers sifting the leaves for each berry.
It's the same in our garden, except that I try to weed the beds as I pluck enough berries for a juicy pie.
The bunnies along the fence top guard our berry patch and I can hear cows calling across the fields as I pick the berries and sketch them...