I remember hills of my childhood deep brown hills, rocks covered with moss so velvet like in touch. We children played all afternoons collecting small yellow white flowers.Smelling tall pine trees as thick dark rasin dripped down their rugged barks. The flowers dahelias, mary golds, zenias i can still smell the freshness in breeze. The sunflowers used to grow so huge that the stalkes gave way and that sunny face of the flower would bow before the mild sun of the mountains. I had a habit of crushing petals and leaves and smelling, those wonderful fragrances still linger in my memory. Later i fell in love with the Parijaat tree, this mythology tells us came from Indra's garden.If one quietly watches how these orange stalked delicate white flowers float down to the ground, its one of the most beautiful things on this earth.The fragrance is such that if you hold these little miracles in your palms for hours this mild lovely whiff surrounds you. Till today i crush leaves and hold them beneath ny kid's nose to enjoy the same beauty of mother nature that still remains fresh as dew drops in my mind's eye.