FRISSONS

HOW SWEET THE FRISSON AS ONCE AGAIN I INHALE THE EXOTIC, SWEET PERFUME OF A NIGHT-BLOOMING JASMINE. ITS FLORAL SCENT DRIFTS FROM TINY, IVORY, TRUMPET FLOWERS WITH THE DOWNFALL OF DARK, ENCHANTING A SPACE. FROM AN UNKNOWN, DISCOUNTED, END-OF-THE SEASON, WITHERED PLANT, THROUGH A WINTER OF HIBERNATION AND A SPRING OF ANTICIPATION TO A SUMMER NIGHT'S AROMATIC SURPRISE, MY SPINDLY NIGHT-BLOOMING JASMINE DEFINES SWEETNESS TO THE OLFACTORY SENSE.

HOW SWEET THE FRISSON AS ONCE AGAIN I SINK MY TEETH INTO THE FAMILIAR AND LONG-AWAITED SWEETNESS OF FRESH, JUICE-SPURTING, HOME-GROWN CORN. FROM A KERNEL COVERED UP IN THE ROTO-TILLED GROUND, THROUGH SHOWERED DRINKS, SUMMER'S HEAT AND HAND-POLLINATION, AND PROTECTED BY A NET FROM A MARAUDING RACCOON, MY 'SUGAR DOT' EARS DEFINE SWEETNESS TO THE GUSTATORY SENSE.

A DUET OF SWEET INTOXICATIONS SINGS TO THE WONDERMENTS OF NATURE. "HOW SWEET IT IS!" AS JACKIE GLEASON OFTEN REMINDED HIS AUDIENCE ON HIS TELEVISON SHOW YEARS AGO.