Note: I am so glad I have recently stumbled into the world of decants, without which the world of post-op recovery would smell so boring.
I do not see a garden, but a room in my grandparents' house the colors of an old photograph. I can smell my grandmother's powders, my great-grandmother's empty perfume bottles. I can hear the spring robins, and the rustling of bundles of herbs as they dry. My fiance is there in the room, in this fragrance, though he never met my grandparents. He is waiting to go for a walk along the creek. It is a memory, and also a dream.