A thirty-minute stroll around the neighborhood late on a balmy Easter afternoon. A rare day of quiet and color; flowering trees at their peak. The lightest of breezes sliding scented blocks of air across yards and streets.
The sidewalk follows a pruned wall of mountain andromeda; clusters of tiny white bells give off a sweet scent mixed with something lower and heavier that always puzzles me. Today I figure it for a mix of pyrazines—almost the character of roasted corn kernels.
Down a side street and I’m submerged in fabric softener fragrance venting from someone’s dryer.
A cottontail freezes on a shady lawn.
Around another corner and through a curtain of light sweetness from the pinkish white saucers on a magnolia, overlapping the fresh waxiness of yellow daffodils massed in a flower bed.
The promise of renewal fulfilled.