Fragrance Quote for April 11th, 2012-Friends of My Boyhood Days by Widgeon

Fragrance Quote for April 11th, 2012-Friends of My Boyhood Days by Widgeon

AS I sit in my easy chair in the gathering darkness of this perfect June evening, there comes stealing in through the open window, the faint perfume of my rose garden. As I inhale the delicate fragrance, the accumulated weight of years fall from my shoulders like a mantle, and again I am a small boy kneeling by the little dog house in the shade of mother's damask rose bush beside the door yard gate, playing with my first puppy. I feel again his cold, moist nose thrust in my hand, his warm tongue humbly licking my fingers. I see the look of devotion in his honest eyes, and hear the eloquent thump of his tail upon the ground.

The languorous summer air is heavy-with the scent of locust blossoms, and the bloom of the vine and shrub, the drowsy drone of bees, the twittering of the barn swallows and the soft cooing of my pet pigeons, while from the meadow come the gurgling song of a bobolink and the mellow whistle of Bob White. The great cherry trees are glowing with ripening fruit and through the gorgeous flowers of the trumpet vine, the dainty humming birds flit in and out.

On the narrow porch under the overhanging eaves, sit my dear mother and sisters, with the manly form of father in the background; his hair and beard dark as the raven's wing. Over all broods the deep peace of a perfect pastoral Sabbath day. Surely it was but yesterday, and not the lifelong span of nearly sixty years ago. It is strange how strong are the impressions of youth and how vivid is the remembrance of beauty.

The subtle fragrance of mother's damask roses has haunted me all through life, and perhaps accounts for my passion for the rose, and why I have so many varieties in my garden, for it was her favorite flower.