The Scent Of Lilacs . . .

"If you've never been thrilled to the very edges of your soul by a flower in bloom,
maybe your soul has never been in bloom." - Terri Guillemets

Not long ago, the tangled branches of the lilac outside my window, were highlighted with snow.
Through the long winter I watched and waited until life returned and the buds began to swell.

Now heavy with blossom and basking in the glorious sunshine, today, the sweet scent of lilacs
reached into me through my open window and called me outside. . .

The view from my desk

I am thinking of the lilac-trees,
That shook their purple plumes,
And when the sash was open,
Shed fragrance through the room.
- Anna S. Stephens

Lilac grows up into the endless blue of the sky

a splash of colour added to the vast palette of greens.

Here comes the time when, vibrating on its stem, every flower fumes

like a censer; noises and perfumes circle in the evening air.

- Charles Baudelaire

Outside the air is heavy with perfume,
the huge purple bush is laden with flowers
and the tall white lilac trees are magnificent
reaching up into the endless blue, blue, sky.
The warmth of the sun, the buzzing of the bees
and the sweet scent of lilac everywhere . . .

My lilac trees are old and tall;
I cannot reach their bloom at all.
They send their perfume over trees
And roof and streets, to find the bees.
- Lousie Driscoll, 1875 - 1957

Breathe in the scent of Lilacs . . .

Memories - a time machine to the past

Memory is the scribe of the soul. - Aristotle

There are some memories that are so vivid that they stay indelibly inked in your psyche, time may pass and the every day moments take precedence. . . but once in a while something will happen and you are back in that place, experiencing those moments. You can taste the air, feel the feelings, relive for a few precious moments, who you were then.

It could be a fragment of a song long forgotten, a smell, a creaking door, the way a slanted beam of light hits a mirror and reflects onto a wall, who knows how many keys these time machines have, who can tell just when we will swop this moment for one once lived. . .

Here are some of mine . . .

I am a child and I believe I can fly.
Up on the wall behind my house, I stand, eyes closed, willing that this will be the time, this time it will work. My hand grasps the carved handle of the large umbrella that will help me soar. . . and I jump. Convinced that THIS TIME it almost worked, I could feel the lift, I almost flew.

I climb the wall, eyes closed, belief intact, I try again. . .


It is Summer and it is 1972
It's not long before my 12th birthday it is early evening and my hair is long and falls in waves to below my waist. I can see the blue and cream striped cheesecloth shirt and the wide bell bottom trousers I am wearing as I walk slowly over the park in front of my house to sit on a low wall beside the shops.

I can hear the music coming from the disco at the youth club - Farewell Is A Lonely Sound by Jimmy Ruffin and Hey There Lonely Girl by Eddie Holman.

I can feel the heat in the air and the sense of sadness, solitude and confusion coming from me.

(This memory was triggered by hearing songs from that year recently on the Radio.)


It is dark and I am coming home from a friends house
She walks me up the well lit street to the corner of the park where we say goodbye. It is dark here, just a huge expanse of dark grass in front of me. In the distance I can see the window of my home emanating a warm glow through the closed curtains.

I fix my eyes on that tiny square of light and I start running. Faster and faster I move, hearing nothing but my breath, seeing nothing but the light in the distance. It is as though I am flying, I can't feel my feet touching the ground, just this surreal but powerful feeling of sprinting through darkness like a arrow on the way to its lit target.

There was something in those times when I ran in the darkness that can not easily be put into words, something that felt outside of normal time and space, something extraordinary.

I relive it again every time I remember. . .


There are more of course, all these moments backed up in the hard drive that is our memory. Filed away, some may never be seen again, some are often bought to the surface by the retelling of our shared history with family, with friends. Some leap from their hiding place with a freshness that the years have not dimmed and once again we are in another place. . . another time.

We are remembering.


I just made the image above to go with this post and I think it really sums up how my memories appear, it is though my body is here but I am lost in the images and feelings of another time, another place. . .


How are your memories triggered? Have you got a memory that you could share here in the comments? I would love to hear your thoughts - your stories - your memories . . .

Another recent memory - A Message from Nature can be found in my latest post at Incredible Joy