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Coups de cœur Cultura
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The smell of freshly cut grass, that sweet, slightly bitter scent of summer's last gasp, always took Sarah back. Not to the freedom of bare feet and endless days, but to the particular, heart-wrenching ache of a goodbye she hadn't even realized she was saying. It was a late August evening, the kind where the air was still warm but held a whisper of autumn's chill, clinging to the dampness of the lawn. She was sprawled on her back, side-by-side with Emily, on the perfectly manicured expanse of Mrs. Henderson's front yard. Mrs. Henderson, God bless her nosy soul, was away for the week, which meant their traditional stargazing spot was clear for their final pre-college ritual.
