by Chris Dungey These ingredients were printed on a crème-colored envelope wedged between toilet tank and wall— an unopened sachet or potpourri. We couldn’t tell, but there were red line sketches—of leaves, sprigs, poinsettia. When for? The Holidays were past—but “Scents of the Season” it read, in English. Still, through February the pouch waited to be poured into an exhausted vase of…
