Patricia M. Twining-Obarski
Works

Rememberances of Honeysuckle

I Remember…

The time of our love

Together

Luxuriant

Full as the scent

Of honeysuckle abundantly grew

In the woodlands behind our home

Its perfume

Saturating

The breeze of early summer

Each molecule

Glazed with nectar

The sweetness, I deeply inhale

As I rounded the path

Leading home

You waiting there


I will the fragrance

To linger

Reluctant to exhale,

Open the French doors wide

Inviting the scent inside

Sweetens our home


S bloom of early June

By the rise of the Dog Star, un-blossoming

Languishing in the heat, the humidity of July

The French doors fastened tight

Air conditioning cools the rooms

There are other scents now:

Candle tapers, jasmine-anointed,

Lavender sachets, sandalwood incense cones

Orange and lemon pomander balls

Studded with bay leaves and cloves


Next to the patio, we plant a garden

Drought-hardy petunias, snapdragons, marigolds

Florals need replanting each season

Hauled in crates from the nursery

Transplanted in the morning when the dew is fresh

The heat we can still bear

Purple, pink, yellow flowers in symmetry of rows


I pause from my labors, lean on the hoe,

Wipe the dirt from my fingers

Contemplate the woodlands

Beyond the fence, the intricate tangle of vines

Vacant of leafage in spaces

Due to heat and want of rain

The aroma now diminished

Honeysuckle vines sprawl untamed


Wistfully, I remember June

Trying to recapture the scent

I reside now in a third floor condo,

Decked with a terrace, cedar wood-planked,

Level with the tree line, projecting to the sky

Flowers kept in container pots

Lack of space dictates the choice

Geraniums and Coleus in terra-cotta urns

The grounds of the development, landscaping precise

Thoughtfully planned, lawns well-kept

Hedgerows trimmed, bushes carefully pruned

I plant my gardens alone now

You abide in a place forever in bloom


In the summertime, in the month of June,

I open the French doors wide

Sit erect in a stiff backed Adrondidack chair

Eyes closed, summoning the memory of the scent

The rambling honeysuckle vines