until I heard the fragrance, which reminded me of it [childhood] and about how happy I was then.
In my own home there is no aroma, or at least none I ever notice. Yet the fragrance in Rosie's condo takes me back to the old house and meadows outside the village we hail from. It takes me back to the moments, when we run between the beds, small shiny shoes over the petaled ground. In my mind it was confetti from the summer carnival and I was the princess again. Rosie has long grasses in cream vases and a subtle floral print to the wallpaper and it helps to feel better. But even with my eyes closed I can smell it, inhaling deeply like each breath is a time machine, and just for those few precious seconds we're twelve all over again with buttercups in our hair.
The transitory evocation ends with passing strangers in loud conversation, landing me back in the present day. My shoes are dull and I no longer dream of ball gowns and princes; of the blue sky in a field and that freedom, which I felt running a race with Rosie.
These aromas was like a breath of fresh air, which I couldn’t get enough of it many long years.
No comments:
Post a Comment