Suddenly, frolicking breezes carry a disarming sweetness. I stop in my tracks, then move slowly toward the fragrance. What resembles a white lacy quilt has been tossed upon my neighbor’s tangled growth of paracantha bushes, their branches laden with clusters of orange berries. Honeybees alight upon the star-shaped blossoms and feed. It is quiet.

In the next block, more fragrance, more excited honeybees weave in and out of these blossoms bushing atop a cyclone fence enclosing a back yard. And still more blossoms in a wooded area down by the creek, slipping waters over the rock bed beneath overarching oaks and maples.

I delight in touching the feathery branches of these trailing vines of the clematis family, variously called the Virgin’s Bower or the Old Man’s Beard, the last resembling its appearance in winter. Their hearty growth in a single season, up to fifteen feet in height, springs from simple stalks that gardeners clip back each winter.

Sensuousness engulfs my soul and momentarily casts aside concerns of every stripe. Here there is harmony. All is well!