Scents and the City

The temperatures were lower than they had been in weeks. It seemed like we were the only ones walking the path. Every once in a while, the wind would catch, sending brief wafts toward us.

Lilacs, fully in bloom. The strange amalgam of gasoline and freshly mown grass. The noisome and fetid lake water and algal bloom. A lumbering bus gifts us with both a brief burst of warm air and a shower of diesel fumes. The fresh scent of cedar mulch used around the bushes in the rose garden. The faint, sweet, cheerful snap of tulips in full bloom.

We walk, sometimes holding hands, occasionally bumping hips as I get distracted by the view of something, anything, and walk into him. We point out the changes since we last walked here. More blooms, the fountain that has been turned on, the wee green oak seeds that now litter the trail, the first blue jay call of the year, the puddles underneath the swings that have dried up, the dog splashing in the (what must be incredibly cold) lake water. Where have the female ducks gone? Are they nesting? Are they at a bachelorette party?

It is a dream. It is real. It's a moment in time we'll never have again.