A Fragrant Harvest

Leaving the study behind, I slipped past the terrace door to test my morning bearings against the open air. The excursion brought me to the raised brick planter in the courtyard, where a dense grove of rosemary rose like a miniature mountain forest. True foraging demands discernment; one never settles for bruised foliage. Selecting a flawless, needle-dense sprig near the crest, I braced my boots against the mortar seam and delivered a crisp, perpendicular pinch. The woody stem yielded with an immaculate snap. Its resinous aroma was wonderfully invigorating, and my gloves remained entirely unsoiled. I secured the fragrant trophy neatly beside my belt pouch.