In a park in Jerusalem I sit on a bench Stone at my back It is cool spring Light jacket No socks and the grass is so green Patches of sunlight, warm Purple dripping from the trees Beneath the canopy of green I smell them The scent heavy beneath from what hangs above from what grows to the side Sage, lavender, I never know my sense of smell has never been good but here, in this city, it is always better than other places The scent, heavy, familiar, makes me want to weep A happy-sad weeping and I understand what he meant about smell being the most spiritual of the senses. I hear birds and buses and an occasional siren I read my book This is peace This is prayer In the holy city A quiet I accept more readily here In Jerusalem my city. - EKG'16