The gardenias growing in the back yard gardens are heavy with flowers. Their perfume is intoxicating. We stop to inhale at several of the flowers. The tender flowers don't last too long so we cut a few to bring small bouquets inside, placing one in a vase on the table near the bed.
The old magnolias are blending their scent with that of other flowers. It is the scent of the old South. I am reminded of those sachets that my grandmother made and kept among her linens. I remember playing beneath the magnolias as they spread their branches nearly to the ground. And I hear the soft voices coming from the porch as my parents sit and talk at the end of a warm day.
The lightening bugs flash as dusk falls, signalling to each other that it's time to mate. I am glad to see their glow. It is another reminder of hot summer nights.
Back then, we slept with windows open to let in a little breeze. Now we open up the windows and porch doors to let the night air and the smell of flowers enter. The ceiling fans swirl. And we hold each other close, intoxicated by the beauty of the day, the warmth of our skin, and the promise of tomorrow.