With the sun warming the air, Mae turned to her garden. Hands deep in the earth, she sang to her flowers. The jasmines leaned in close, listening to her song. And sometimes, if Mae listened just right, she could hear them singing back - soft songs only flowers would know. Her garden was a world of its own - warm, fragrant, alive - a place where roots and dreams grew side by side.
 
Tastes like: A slow afternoon in the garden, with jasmines in bloom, mangoes ripening nearby, and sunshine on your skin.