The scent of linden flowers after rain – from the tree the English call lime – has brought memories of the garden in Spain.
The tilo was beautiful as it passed from green leaf to full flower:
In autumn, it displayed a small rainbow of greens and yellows:
It would be one of the last to shed its brittle ginger gown…
…holding tight to skeletal bracts even in winter:
But it was in early summer when it was at its busiest: when everything was dulled and still in the building heat, it was alive with moths and bees, and its perfume was so strong it was almost deafening.
Through the long hours
of the longest days,
the linden hums
with honeyed promises
don't confuse the narrator 
One thought on “perfumed memories”