One particular Tuesday, the Pollening was at its peak. Elara woke up with a sensation she knew all too well: her right nostril was completely, utterly, and defiantly sealed shut. Breathing was a shallow, one-nostril affair. Speaking sounded like she was holding a conch shell to her face. Even Mr. Snuffles gave her a look of pity.
Elara inhaled deeply, dramatically, filling both lungs for the first time in hours. She could smell the rain again. The musty paper of the books. Even the faint, fishy breath of Mr. Snuffles. how to unclog nostril
“Gran,” Elara sniffled. “My nostril is clogged. The right one. It’s been six hours.” One particular Tuesday, the Pollening was at its peak
Then, a sound. A tiny, wet pop . A rush of cool, sweet, glorious air. The right nostril opened like a drawbridge at dawn. Speaking sounded like she was holding a conch
The end.
In the damp, rain-slicked city of Alder Falls, lived a librarian named Elara. Elara loved old books, the smell of rain, and her cat, Mr. Snuffles. What she did not love was the annual Spring Pollening, when the ancient willows outside the library unleashed a fine, golden dust that turned the air into a weapon of mass congestion.