The woods are so heavy with the scents of honeysuckle and multflora roses that it feels almost narcotic. After the rain the air is thick with humidity, thick with scent, and it's like walking though a greenhouse. This is a greenhouse, nature's green house, and it's tempting to let the scent overwhelm me and nod off in it, as though I was drugged.
It is as exotic a scent as any found in Africa or some desert marketplace. No perfume on a counter can come close to it. It is the scent and the humidity together that creates this feeling of heaviness, that gives the experience such depth and complexity, like a Beethoven sonata.
Humans are not known for possessing much in the way of scenting ability, but I find that strong scents create emotion in me in a way that sights or sounds rarely do. Is that why we better developed our other senses? Perhaps the power of scent was so strong that it threatened to overwhelm our fledgling intellects, so it was better not to have it, not to give scent that power. But sometimes, in some places, at some times, I am reminded that its power is still there.