I cannot see a lilac without catching out of the corner of my eye
the diaphanous flow of sheer sheeting of the same color.
The folds and waterfall of fabric enveloping my body like the ring of a bell,
smooth against the pop of buds bursting
into three-dimensional triads and quartets of color.
Green hearts gilded with the white patina of many moistured mornings,
a specimen grown gangly and sparse,
cut to the quick before flourishing in fullness once again.
Overtaking its age,
shooting up sprouts all around it,
expanding its perimeter.
It is the harbinger of spring,
of warmer days promised in the perfumed chill.
It is the talisman of youth,
of adventures in grandmother’s garden,
the boundary of Mr. Thompson’s yard,
the backdrop of moments frozen in time.
I cannot smell a lilac without being at once wistful and hopeful.
image from Getty
Chopping Potatoes 
“Hope springs eternal.” You paint such beautiful colors with your words. I thoroughly enjoyed this as always.
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Lovely. I feel the same way about buttons and thread. And also mint. My grandmother didn’t have a garden proper, but a container one and I loved her mint plants. She would make me mint tea while I played with her buttons and threads (ever made that you with them?) and it was glorious 😊
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Mmmm, fresh mint tea and warm memories. The best.
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I love lilacs too!
Danielle
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❤
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