Lemon tree pollen.

Page twenty-two.

Lemon tree pollen.

This day smelled like lemons. I was walking along a path strewn with white petals, and suddenly I felt something invisible touch my face - like a kiss. It was pollen. Light as a memory. And alive as spring.

There was a lemon tree nearby, covered with flowers and fruits. I stopped. I touched the glossy leaf with my palm. The sun played in the gaps like a child, and a light wind carried the aroma so that I wanted to remember this feeling forever.

A woman from the next yard noticed me. “This tree has been growing here for a hundred years,” she said. “And every year it is the first to sense when joy comes.”

I looked at him again. And it's true. Joy smells like lemon. And silence. And the light pollen that remains on your sleeves.

Continued on the next page.