Iris are blooming in the warm spring sun, their delicate petals shiver with the breeze. It’s Friday afternoon, the little breeze is just enough to spread the orange blossoms’ fragrance, filling up the yard. It’s kind of sweet, rich and continuous, like ripples of water, layer after layer. It’s as if the orange tree is exhaling, and I’m trying to inhale. I wonder if I lived near an orange orchard, would I be drunken from this fragrance? Especially at night, when everyone is asleep, only the blooming orange trees and me.
I love this time of year, life is thriving everywhere: a little sprout on the grape vine, blooming iris and prime time for peach blossoming, all burgeoning into an overflow. The colors, the fragrance, the songbirds, overwhelming the senses all at once, I guess that’s the beauty of life, and being alive. Everything is happening, yet as if nothing is happening.