072: honeysuckle

The south side of the street is rimmed with honeysuckle. I walked out this morning and caught a richly floral scent, but couldn’t tell where it came from. Tonight I walked home that way, descended into the valley of the scent again—and on my left were the honeysuckle bushes, and I said, “Oh! That’s what I smelled this morning.” Only this time it was deepened, vivified, by the rain pattering around it and dripping through it. It was like tea—flowers and leaves dipped and steeped in a basket of rain, made deeper, more real, more wet, luscious, reverent.