Plants vary enormously in the strength and pleasantness (or otherwise) of their aroma. Some are evocative; some are downright repellent; some haunt us with their olfactory beauty.
The vegetal aroma which, for me, transcends all others is honeysuckle. It is Flower Fairies and childhood and long holidays and a sweetness far greater than anything spun from sugar. It is hope and early love and shyness and first gentle bite at the cherry.
I have taken some cuttings from the honeysuckle which luxuriates at the bottom of the garden; it sprawls in untidy scented profusion over the dilapidated shed, sending out its carillon of vegetal notes on still warm evenings, inviting us all to dance to the essence of plant’s perfumed inner rhythm.
It, like Proust’s Madeleines, conjures magic and memories quite at variance with its size and wild, yet humble, beginnings. Its vegetal nature connect our senses to the wider world, to others who love such simple pleasures, to a community which cherishes the gifts of nature.
My cuttings sit in a variety of small bottles and glasses. They float like the vegetal cells of earliest embryos in an amniotic fluid composed of water, love and hope; they float so that I can seen if their roots will grow and provide continuity for my new abode.
I do not yet know whether I shall succeed in this delicate process of transferring vegetal mystery from one area to another. We shall see…