When I’m driving home from yoga, there is this point on the Freeway where the air is redolent with the sweet perfume of vanilla and the rich essence of cinnamon commingled into a cloud of heavenly goodness.  This snickerdoodle-scented bliss lasts only for a few moments and then it’s gone.  It makes me smile every time I drive passed.  The factory that emits this odiferous wonderland of scent makes cookies.  I think that if we scented the world like cookies then no one would ever have a bad day again.  Pure happiness under a vanilla sky.