If it weren't for the smell of the lilacs, this weekend could have been in the middle of a foggy fall. But despite the drizzle and the low, misty clouds, the spring scent of lilacs was in the air. We kept indoors, Rebecca recovering from sickness. She too could smell the lilacs that some previous tenant-farmer had planted long ago, on one of the terraces behind our house. That tenant must have been a lover of pink blossoms, and whereas the pink iris - grown by now into a jungle of green and thick leaves, and hot-pink blooms streaked with yellow - aren't my favorite, I'm forever grateful for the lush lilac bushes.
This weekend their cones of florets were swaying gently in the breeze outside our windows, when Rebecca - her forehead leaning against the glass pane, and her gaze lost in some dream of her own - proposed, "Let's paint them!" So I went to the garden to pick some lilac blossoms, as well as a branch of Achillea Millefolium dense with white blooms, and a rosemary twig. I spread them out on the kitchen table, and we spent an autumnal spring Sunday watercoloring our garden inspiration of the day.
The bunch of lilacs now grace our table, the white blooms are on a windowsill, and the rosemary . . . well, the rosemary we ate on a potato pizza last night.