From Barbara - Poem by Morgan Michaels
She didn't brag, but Barbara had enormous faith in her nose. In ways that were never boastful, she let it be known that her sniffer was extraordinary. Walking into a room she could smell roses- then startled her friends by naming the kind. She avoided Indian restaurants because of the phantasmagoria of odors they bred- a pity, she said, because she loved the food. Inhaling so many conflicting and complimentary odors gave her a headache, followed by a night of rowdy dreams. Sniffing the air she could predict fair and foul weather better than the weatherman. But most remarkably, her sniffer could distinguish edible mushrooms from their deadly kin, the toadstools, whose powerful aflotoxins, ingested, were usually fatal. After the rain (forecast by her nose) she led her brood down the little dirt lane across the road and into the woods, to the path that skirted the pond. There, with their help, she found the newly sprung mushrooms in sunny circles between the trees. (Eyes not as good as her nose, her glasses held lenses whose thickness was diminished by their frames.) With their further help...
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