EACH MAY HE GIFTS me with the intoxicating scent of spring. A bouquet of lilacs, gathered from a bush in the park up the hill.
Typically my husband stops on his way home from work, pulls a jacknife from the pocket of his greasy work pants, sometimes stands on the tips of his Red Wing work shoes to saw tough, determined stems clinging to a gnarly bush.
But this year, on the eve he drove down the gravel road into the park, he found the lilacs still tight-closed, not yet ready to unfurl in the chill of a late spring.
A few days later, en route home from dinner out, I noticed lilacs in full bloom. Instead of turning into our driveway, Randy aimed uphill toward the park, entering past a group of teens playing Frisbee golf.
I can only imagine their chatter as they witnessed us, in our white mini van, parked beside the lilac bush, Randy cutting lilac stems, me shooting photos.
They do not understand yet—what it means to see your hardworking husband walk through the door each May with an armful of lilacs, the spring blooms filling your home with the heady scent of love.
© Copyright 2013 Audrey Kletscher Helbling