“The rich, sweet smell of the hayricks rose to his chamber window; the hundred perfumes of the little flower-garden beneath scented the air around; the deep-green meadows shone in the morning dew that glistened on every leaf as it trembled in the gentle air: and the birds sang as if every sparkling drop were a fountain of inspiration to them.”
Charles Dickens


There is nothing as intoxicating or heavenly, to stumble upon when walking in a garden, than that of the scent of a gardenia. The heavy perfume, if the wind is just right, announces the flower long before it ever comes into view.

Perhaps this is why man invented perfume… he wanted to smell as sweet, as sensuous, as delirious as the flowers. When you are in a garden, close your eyes and take a deep breath, holding it slightly, then slowly exhale—it is as if you can taste the scent of the flowers which surround you.

The thick pollen sits in the center of these blooms looking like powdery egg yolk just waiting for that lucky bee to wander by. The blooms are sweet, soft and demure–easily bruised—yet it is the scent that is so captivating. It holds me, making me linger…breathing deeper as if I’m trying to pull in the very last drop of perfume. I feel almost selfish, I want to pull in all of the scent, holding it close.

To some it is the rose, to others wild jasmine—but here, in the silence of this garden, it is the gardenia that beckons and calls me close…..

Have you seen the spirit of a tree?

”I think that I shall never see, 
a poem lovely as a tree. 
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest, 
against the earth’s sweet flowing breast; 
A tree that looks at God all day 
and lifts her leafy arms to pray; 
A tree that may in Summer wear 
a nest of robins in her hair; 
Upon whose bosom snow has lain; 
Who intimately lives with rain. 
Poems are made by fools like me, 
But only God can make a tree.”

Joyce Kilmer, “Trees,” 1914