Even now, the scent of eucalyptus is romantic, dreamlike. Sharp. Clean. It is to the scent of a conifer or mint as cardamom is to cinnamon, as a quince is to a pear--like, and yet unlike; an exotic, sophisticated cousin. It's the scent of fog rolling through Golden Gate Park, of the twists and turns of the Pacific Coast Highway, of sunset on a cliff over Point Reyes or out over the Bay from the Berkeley hills. The scent of beauty so great that even now, after eleven years of knowing it, I can't take it for granted.