Stop and Smell the Lilacs

Lilacs are my favorite flower. Period. Growing up, it seemed as though there were lilac bushes all around my house; I loved nothing more than to run up to and smell them three, sometimes four times each day for the short tme that they were in bloom. Bunches of the fragrant flower would always appear on the kitchen table, courtesy of moi. They never lasted very long--only a day or two--but I enjoyed the fragrance while they did.

Here in France, there are more flowers than I could possibly have imagined: huge pink buds, tiny mellow yellow blooms, vibrant red blossoms. Walking to school sometimes reminds me of a perfume shop--though more pleasant. Even so, I missed my lilacs. I realized that, in all likelihood, I will not be home when the lilacs are in bloom. This realisation seemed to be a sign of my homesickness in general

And then, this morning I found them. On my way to school I passed by the typical floral scents, and was halted in my tracks by a very familiar and beloved smell--the smell of lilacs. A tiny bush, almost completely hidden from view, is right next to the path that I typically walk to get to the university. If it weren't for the scent of the flowers, it would have gone unnoticed.

A simple pleasure--smelling the lilacs--was never so appreciated. It felt like a little taste of home.