You smell

Working in the garden on my new passion, I’d had to get a long ladder to scale the hazel tree. I’d needed to use the ladder and my long-handled lopper to claim my prizes. There at the top of the tree were the hazel rods, standing perfectly erect, reaching for the sky. These top rods were long, just what I needed for weaving my hurdle fence.

She couldn’t watch me; too dangerous. I harvested all I could reach. Then came the rain, so I went indoors.

“You smell,” she accused, “...of fresh air,” as she snuggled up to me.