This was supposed to be the morning post, but the music and the sentiments were too moody to stand up to the morning light. Certain music must be heard only when the sun has gone to bed, the way certain flowers only emit their perfume late into the evening like an angel’s trumpet. Perhaps they’re afraid of the cold, brisk, bracing frost that still troubles the mornings. Lilacs are hardier than that, forged before the winter even begins to wreak its havoc. Spring blooms have to be stronger than those of summer.
I see lilacs in the rain,
And you are with me again,
When April sprinkles her dreams in my heart
When we parted in the lane,
The skies were tearful with rain,
The scent of lilacs remained in my heart.
Andy mentioned the angel’s trumpet in passing a little while ago, and maybe this is the year we bring them back – the first year is really just the planning – their show usually happens after overwintering for a year or two, when they can develop roots and trunks and soar like small trees, dangling their sweetly-lemon-scented blooms in the nights of summer.
Two other arms around you now,
Some other love has found you now!
But when love forgets to smile,
My darling, once in a while,
Remember April and lilacs in the rain!
For now, the lilacs will have to do, and they stand on their own perfume-wise. I’ve been afraid to examine our lilac trees to see how many buds might be present – there’s nothing other to be done whether they are full or scant, and lately I’ve been focusing on what is real, what is present, what is at hand – a method of mindfulness that fills the head-space when overthinking runs the risk of overtaking.
The previous sentence dangles there without a proper ending. It began in such busy fashion and then just petered out. Playing with words is merely an excuse for disguising something deeper, something more vulnerable and telling. Lilacs evoke such sentiments – they have me spilling secrets of the heart’s desires, and the heart’s hurts. That’s why this post would have never stood up to the unforgiving light of day; there wouldn’t be enough shadow to shield…
When we parted in the lane,
The skies were tearful with rain,
The scent of lilacs remained in my heart.
