Our lily of the valley is still just brandy-snap curls of green leaf pushing through the earth, but Victor's is in a sunny spot by the concrete wall of his barn, and is flowering already, there'll be plenty for Fête de Travail.
I nipped off a sprig and threaded it through the eyelet at the neck of my t-shirt; the perfume accompanied my walk, and grew headier as it wilted. I still have the dry brown remains, and they still smell beautiful. How can something so small generate so much scent?
How can you describe scent? How can you write about the wonder, the shock of spring flowers, without triteness? What about
'why is it that the Spring flowers seem
like bits of the world refocusing
when the brain wakes from an anaesthetic?'
('From-here-to-there Portal', from Lucas - brother of Plutarch).
And while we're on sensory, nay, sensual, delights, I can't get over this one from Michelle at Peony Moon. There's all manner of wondrous verse to be found all over, I know, but every now and then something really hits the spot, and this is a feast. I challenge you to read it without your mouth watering. (Tarantella, just before it, is marvellous too.)
11 comments:
Lucy, your photographs and posts make me long to dash out and buy a house in the country. Pity I'm so financially inconvenienced ...
I'd love to hear about the Fête de Travail.
I'm so glad you like the poems.
Yes, it's always a pleasure to visit here just for those photographs.
The words aren't bad too.
Spring allows us to release our pent up desire to appreciate beauty.
It makes me think of the Wizard of Oz, funnily enough; you know, that monochrome beginning in a dullish real life that transforms into the vivid colour of the fantasy.
Enjoyed the fig imagery.
Lushness.
This is a feast for the senses, Lucy. I LOVE muguet. Always have.
And I LOVE your photos and writing.
The links are great too.
What a nice present for this weekend! Thanks.
Good morning!
Thank you for sending such nice people my way.
Gosh, what wonderful figgy words... might go and bury my pen in the garden now. *Sigh*
I have always been perplexed and amazed by the powerful scent of those little white flowers - the photo and your post brings it all back. Beautiful photo.
Many thanks for the mention of and link to my poem and also for the introduction to Michelle's. I like the evocative Mediterranean imagery linked by the fig. My favourite stanza is the one about the dance on the terrace with accordion player.
My absolute favourite, lily-of-the-valley. I've not seen any out here yet.
mmm the joys of spring
I first encountered lilies-of-the-valley in my new home in Cakovec, Croatia, so they always remind me of those early years and of my mother-in-law. Thanks for the memories!
And, yes, the scent is amazing. Haa to be experienced to be believed.
Oh, I've had this thought so many times. How can you describe scent? How can you write about the wonder, the shock of spring flowers, without triteness?I was wracking my brain in the attempt to describe what a huge field of bluebonnets smell like . . . but I just couldn't begin to describe it.
Lucy, you so often put ideas into words in a way that is just SO RIGHT.
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