Katherine C. Lund – Page 57

The rain in Alabama has a way of turning red clay into a trap. I remember the sound...

The parish hall always smells of lemon floor wax and the faint, sweet scent of old books. I...

The kitchen in our Connecticut home is usually a place of peace at night. I like to sit...

The kitchen smelled like the lemon oil I use on the pine cabinets every Tuesday. It was a...

The sand was still warm when that stranger asked to take our photo. My husband, Virgil, and I...

Aunt Evelyn was the kind of woman who filled a room just by walking into it. She had...

The internal memo pinged on my phone at 6:42 in the morning. It was a standard report on...

The smell of roasted rosemary and heavy cream used to make me feel proud. Now, it just makes...

“I had to do it. The leaves were clogging my filter every single day.” That was the first...

The Panera on 4th Street always smells like toasted sourdough and that specific, sharp tang of floor cleaner....