Honeysuckle and a HillPosted: June 1, 2008
By seven as the sun peeks through a cloud-speckled sky, I go for a walk. The air is cool and damp from the gullywashers earlier. At two this morning, one storm came through, bringing rolling thunder and lightning. Then before four I awoke to the sound of hail pounding the roof. It brought me straight up out of bed. I did go back to sleep and dreamt I took a former neighbor’s beagle to a fair and lost it.
Seven weeks after surgery, it feels good to be back at significant exercise. By that, I mean a walk up the Fieldstone trail that gently inclines behind Wyndham Hill. Long steps, pull, breathe.
As I follow the curve of the trail at the back of Wimbledon, I breathe in the smell of honeysuckle. The air is heady with it, and it brings a smile. So many childhood memories of picking the blossoms, pulling the slender centers out, and sucking the “honey”…. Trees are still low and heavy with raindrops, and little wet crystals hang from the tips of every single pine needle. The trail follows Clarendon’s sidewalks, then goes over a little wooden bridge and curves to a quiet hill behind Wyndham. I’m walking alone this morning. The dog has made it clear that she is not about to climb that hill. The last three times I’ve taken her, she comes to an abrupt halt and about-face as we reach the first fence that defines Wyndham Hill. I tug one way; she tugs the other. She’s nine and balking for flat sidewalks, and I let her win.
It’s June and soon the wooded patch along the trail will be filled with pink mimosa blossoms mixed in with the honeysuckle. More memories … of a childhood treehouse built in Nancy’s mimosa tree on the corner of Deering and Third. We sat up there on Dad’s old scrap boards nailed to tree branches and partook of the honeysuckle flowers that grew on a fence beside the tree.
The smells must be what I remember most from those good old days of childhood. They ease me back quicker than anything.