All this spring, pandemic or no, my four mile walk has been bringing me beauty. Yesterday it brought me exquisite scent as well. I discovered two lilac bushes along my way! Nearly giddy with the discovery, I inched off the path and snapped off the tiniest bloom my conscience would allow and carried it with me the whole rest of the walk. At home I put it in a favorite wee Chinese vase in my bedroom and behold, glorious aroma for the entire night! Just an illusive silken thread of scent wafting thought the room for hours!
I have always loved lilacs. We had a bush on the property line of my childhood home and the next door neighbors. It's blooms were a pale purple and their scent - the joy of childhood! The blooming of the lilacs meant barefoot time, furrows of shiny dark soil to plant, dandelion greens to gather, end of winter and burgeoning freedom.
The mysterious scent that so quickens my senses has eluded all soaps, lotions, perfumes that claim it. I keep trying hopefully, but always the disappointing, no, disgusting, result! Lilacs' aroma simply can't be captured.
And perhaps that truism applies to many pure joys - they can't be stoppered, contained, preserved. They should just be enjoyed for the moment, like blowing a liquid bubble and watching it slowly form and awkwardly tear away from the rim, catch the rainbow sunshine and sail away.
A few brief moments of deep breath delight. Ah.
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