Poetry and Patchouli

It was a beautiful day Saturday - warm and sunny. The promise of spring in the air. I'd sat all day indoors at a meeting and had just been dropped off at the mall for a quick "kill an hour shopping" moment. The first thing to beckon me as I entered the mall? The local library having a used book sale. Nothing better than browsing up and down the tables looking for an odd find, a good bargain, a well perused novel. Twenty minutes later I was paying for a $3.00 copy of
"Everyman's Book of English Verse". A heavy tome from 1981 that promises hours well spent with the masters - Milton, Shakespeare, Marlowe et al. Book in hand I wandered to the Body Shop in search of patchouli. And if patchouli could not be found, then something heady, spicy and exotic would have to do. Lotions, potions, soaps and creams - all had to be smelled. Too fruity? Pass that up. Too flowery? Nope, that won't do. A rather persistent young sales clerk followed my every move, commenting on everything I picked up, hoping to make a sale. Just when I thought she was beginning to border on annoying (or had she actually passed annoying about five minutes earlier?) I spotted the patchouli oil, and some "scent your own body lotion". Happy to give her a task to do, I asked her to infuse some lotion with the patchouli oil.

So it was an hour later I left the mall. Poetry and patchouli in hand. * o

Poetry and Patchouli