I wish the picture would show it all. The dry earthy smell of the soft ground under my feet, years and years of pine needles softening each step. The murmur of the breeze, mixing on a tang of salt from the sea. The buzzing of bees and the higher whirr of mosquitos. The promise of blueberries in the underbrush, and the way the sun feels on my arms, just there, as it slants through the gnarly pines. It smells of earth and dust and summer, of childhood and adventures and the sea.