A flexing of the Worldskin, and Bird flies, Calling. It is a time of joy, for strangers have landed on Mechaieh. A silver egg resembling the spawn of Frog drifted gently to the ground near Pool. Out of it hatch five beings of the same color and reflectivity, though the egg is not broken. The hatchlings proceed to water's edge.
At the crest of Scenic Drive, a brick and clapboard house sat on a knoll. Dandelions and crab grass overpowered the rows of strawberries that made up the front yard. Morning glories strangled anything in their path. The house overlooked the Yakima Valley; it was Mama’s dream house, but Mama’s dream clearly was not the garden. It looked as if the only gardener had been God, who after throwing the seeds out had gone onto shape the valley and dry, mud foothills of this eastern Washington town. That is if you believed in God. I had a problem believing in God. I was fourteen. The year was 1964, and I was just beginning the eighth grade.
I was extremely pleased when, upon making telephone reservations at the Comfort Inn in Asheville, NC, I was told by the reservation clerk, "We don't use fragrances in our rooms. We don't use air fresheners or anything with a strong smell."
I could hardly believe my ears, and wondered if that was indeed true. When I arrived at the Comfort Inn, which is clean and nicely appointed, I made my usual "smell test."