I like to think I am the sort of person who lives in and appreciates the moment. Truth is, sometimes I am not. It is lilac season in Maine. Lilac bushes grow around the foundation of many houses here, and they grow wild in long forgotten hedges and around the base of old cellar holes. I like to think about the people who planted them long ago, knowing that early every spring the bushes would be heavy with scent-laden flowers.
The lilacs always bloom right around Memorial Day here in New England. As a child I used to run to the huge hedge of lilacs near the Boxford library and pick armfuls of blooms. I would lay them on the graves in the ancient cemetary and think about how the heavenly perfume would make the spirits glad.
This year I have walked past the lilac bush by my door a thousand times and loved the fleeting aroma. But I have not stopped to bury my nose in a purple bloom and just breathe. Until today. I snapped off a few branches and stuffed them in an old Mason jar. And now my kitchen smells of spring in New England. And every time I walk past I stop and inhale.
The moment? It is fragrant.
1 comment:
I have been offline for weeks...just catching up. I LOVE this shot & this entire post !!!
Post a Comment