In the quiet of the Japanese garden, Mei wandered slowly, her fingers brushing the soft petals of hibiscus lining the pea-gravel paths. The air was thick with the promise of spring—hints of cherry blossoms drifting on the breeze, mingling with the scent of fresh cacao leaves and a faint trace of pink peppercorns. Her mind felt at peace here among the rustling leaves and the occasional hum of distant city life and the bay harbor just beyond the garden walls.

She paused beside a small pond, where giant puffball mushrooms stood like white sentinels along the water’s edge. Nearby, watercress grew in dense clusters, and the rich scent of tamari mixed with the earthy aroma of tanned leather from the old cigar box she’d found tucked beneath a gnarled cherry tree. Inhaling deeply from the aged wooden box, Mei savored its fragrant blend of allspice, cinnamon, and something luscious--blood orange, perhaps?--before moving onward.

Carried through the air, the tang of cranberry and rhubarb grazed her senses. Mei smiled, recalling the meals she’d shared with friends—watermelon mint sorbet, Gala apples, and cured meats on a warm afternoon. The comfort of the flavors lingered in the air, as if they too were part of the garden's quiet rhythm.

With each step, she felt more grounded, the world narrowing to this peaceful moment, wrapped in the crisp, briny essence of the sea.

notes by miranda thompson, vp of quality control