I walk Anna every morning down our street, across the road and down towards the olive tree garden. Sometimes I deviate and we go down the stairs toward the sea. We have a pattern, a rhythm that we follow every morning. Along our way we meet different people and their dogs, some who ignore us and some who lung and bark at Anna (the dogs lung, the people look the other way for the most part). I assume they are barking at Anna. Maybe its really me.
A few days ago I noticed something different. Several feet down the road, along a property that is edged in shrubbery too high to see over and too thick to see through, a scent that could only be described as Earl Grey tea wafted into my senses. I thought the first time I smelled it that I must be imagining it, since I drink Earl Grey every morning and my nose must just be impatient to get home. But day after day since then I have smelled it. Gently lingering at one spot along the shrubbery and then take a few steps and its gone. Like the perfume of an exotic flower just beyond my gaze. Oddly enough, its winter here and nothing is flowering. The evergreens are all that is left of the foliage and spring has not sprung yet. Strange. I like to think someone is sitting just behind those bushes, at a table set for tea with two china cups and saucers painted in a delicate floral design with pink petals. Cucumber sandwiches cut into squares with no crust, scones and biscuits with soft butter and preserves. The tea is steeping in the matching tea pot complete with cozy and all I need to do is cut through the greenery and sit at my spot. And there are spoons, naturally.
This reminds me of the honeysuckle in North Province RI. I would walk Anna around the neighborhood where we lived and there was one spot, down a side street, where you would be walking and suddenly the sweet smell of honeysuckle would flood over you. I spent so much time looking for the actual plant but I could never locate where the smell was coming from. Like a fool, I would turn this way and that, sniffing the air like a hound trying to find the trail of a fox. A few steps beyond and the cloud would vanish. The invisible honeysuckle cloud. And here we have the invisible Earl Grey tea cloud.
A few days ago I noticed something different. Several feet down the road, along a property that is edged in shrubbery too high to see over and too thick to see through, a scent that could only be described as Earl Grey tea wafted into my senses. I thought the first time I smelled it that I must be imagining it, since I drink Earl Grey every morning and my nose must just be impatient to get home. But day after day since then I have smelled it. Gently lingering at one spot along the shrubbery and then take a few steps and its gone. Like the perfume of an exotic flower just beyond my gaze. Oddly enough, its winter here and nothing is flowering. The evergreens are all that is left of the foliage and spring has not sprung yet. Strange. I like to think someone is sitting just behind those bushes, at a table set for tea with two china cups and saucers painted in a delicate floral design with pink petals. Cucumber sandwiches cut into squares with no crust, scones and biscuits with soft butter and preserves. The tea is steeping in the matching tea pot complete with cozy and all I need to do is cut through the greenery and sit at my spot. And there are spoons, naturally.
This reminds me of the honeysuckle in North Province RI. I would walk Anna around the neighborhood where we lived and there was one spot, down a side street, where you would be walking and suddenly the sweet smell of honeysuckle would flood over you. I spent so much time looking for the actual plant but I could never locate where the smell was coming from. Like a fool, I would turn this way and that, sniffing the air like a hound trying to find the trail of a fox. A few steps beyond and the cloud would vanish. The invisible honeysuckle cloud. And here we have the invisible Earl Grey tea cloud.
