As I walked my walk, on my trail, with my beast, I was taken back … way back to my childhood.
It was first my eyes that were transported to childhood memories, and then, more significantly, the scents
that my nasal passages could never forget. The sights and smells of wild roses.
Truly Shakespeare was right when he said, “that which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” And, a wild rose, even more so.
I have never smelled a perfume, room deodorizer, a candle … anything that has perfectly duplicated the beautifully subtle yet poignant scent of a wild rose.
For me, that scent takes me back to my childhood, and especially to my pre-adolescent years.I remember the wild roses growing in a field across from our first family house, and my dad picking them for my mom. I remember being at my grandmothers house, where it seemed they grew everywhere.
When I see wild roses, out in nature, it is impossible for me to resist sticking my nose close to them to drink in their scent. And as I get close, I close my eyes, and for a moment I am transported back in time to my younger days.
I am transported to childhood.
To carefree summer days.
To pollywogs (tadpoles).
To pussy willows.
To awakening to the smell of homemade bread, at my grandmother’s house.
To picking wild strawberries, and blueberries (that grow close to the ground).
To running through acres of undisturbed fields.
To eating so many wild mushrooms, fried in butter in a pan, that I didn’t touch another until I was 30!
To the cool of my grandmothers house on a stiffling summer day.
To the sound of my grandmothers needle piercing the fabric on the quilt she was quilting.
To the crisp clean sheets on the little bed at Gram’s house.
To my the moon shining bright through the bedroom window, at night.
To the voice of my Gram, as she and I took in the beauty … the wonder of the moon …
Over the mountain, over the sea,
Back where my heart is longing to be, Please let the light that shines on me Shine on the one I love. I see the moon; the moon sees me Down through the leaves of the old oak tree. Please let the light that shines on me Shine on the one I love. I hear the lark; the lark hears me, Singing a song with a melody. Please let the lark that sings for me Sing for the one I love. I kiss a rose; the rose kisses me, Fragrant as only a rose can be. Please let the Rose that comforts me Comfort the one I love.
over his not being a morning person, and he would choose door number one. After all it was game two of the NHL finals! What self-respecting Canadian would CHOOSE to miss the first half of that game? And, I digress …).
As the afternoon was wearing on, I was seeing that hubby was not happy with his progress on his ‘to do’ list. This caused me to fear that our walk was in danger of cancellation. So, I kindly, gently, pleasantly reminded hubby that it was 2:00. Then I asked, “are you still in for a walk?” His response was affirmative … I was doubtful.
He turned the game on …on his phone … so he could hear it!
As the volcano within me was building to a near-cataclysmic point, I decided to just be forthright and tell it like I saw it …
itsawonderfilledlife 