Described as:
Cultivated with care … home-grown apples and pumpkins blended with ginger and clove.
SMELLS LIKE after a long day spent soaking in the Autumn air, in an orchard, picking the best and reddest specimens right off the trees, letting one after the other thud softly to the bottom of the canvas bag held in the strong, patient hands of the person you love who came with you, and now you’re driving back home, maybe thinking idly about pies, or tarts, but knowing that you wouldn’t have to make anything for this date to be worth it, but both of you are exhausted, smiling, and satisfied, but they, in all their kind patience, have offered to drive, so you’re a passenger in your car, like the three bags of fruit in the back, like the great, orange, soon-to-be Jack O’ Lantern in the trunk you picked out just for them, and, in the car, there’s no music but the hum of a well-heated car to lull you to sleep, which sounds funny to you because how are you supposed to sleep when waking life feels like a dream, but you close your eyes and let the tuneless, wordless lullaby of the road soothe you with the way everything SOUNDS.