My garden was a mess; when I go home, I’m so busy “moxifying” Lisbon Falls that I don’t have much time to weed. Uncle Bob’s section of the garden is never a mess.
In spite of the rain and clouds covering last night’s full moon, I worked into the evening darkness, making my section of the garden Uncle Bob-worthy. Occasionally, the breeze would carry the smell of what I thought was honeysuckle over the fence. It was delicate and unsettling at the same time. It reminded me of my mother’s Avon lady, Mrs. Maynard, who used to bring perfume samples to my mother back in the day when “Ding Dong, Avon calling” meant what the marketers said. Avon once had a fragrance called “Honeysuckle” and it smelled like whatever was coming over the fence.
Having learned the smell of honeysuckle from a perfume packet, it’s possible that the fragrant flowering shrub over the fence is something else.
The smell also made me think of a beautiful and heavenly place that might exist somewhere if I could slow down long enough to breathe. I clipped a small flowering branch and put it in a vase next to my bed. I could smell the delicate and otherworldly fragrance as I drifted off into a dreamless sleep.
Where is this place where I can breathe deeply, without deadlines and expectations? Where is the peaceful honeysuckle arbor?
I will find it.