"Sherlock?"
"Hmmmmmm?"
"It's the last day of summer."
"Is it?" A loud intake of breath through flared nostrils punctuates the question. "Why, you're right, John. So it is."
"You don't mean to tell me you know the changing of the season based on smell?!"
"Obviously."
"How?"
"The complex answer involves chemicals you've never heard of and formulae that would bore you. Suffice to say, the aroma of deep growth, stale earth, cooler air and ripeness provide an excellent indication. Coupled with the scent of you, make it irrefutably the final throws of the season."
"What?! Hang on… the scent of me? What do I…."
"Simple, John, really. You must start paying more attention."
"Must I."
"Yes. Your aftershave use has declined, since you are perspiring less and require a smaller amount of fragrance for cover. Although, it's actually more your personal essence which provides the evidence. Gone are the fresh, exuberant tones of heat and sweat to be exchanged for a somewhat darker, muskier flavour. The scent of cotton has been replaced with wool. The slightly aromatic perception of feet is now smothered by socks. And, you've switched our lighter tea brand with something richer and more mellow in palette, which appears on your breath, when you ever take the initiative to kis…."
…
..
.
"Yes, John. That's the bouquet."