Walking Oliver tonight there was a scent in the air, the scent of spring, even maybe a hint of summer. The ocean, the bay, water, sand, life, people, popcorn, pizza drifting from the brightly colored lights of the boardwalk. Only in dreams can it be seen, only in dreams can we wish for days by the sea, playing, laughing, jumping into the cool blue. These scents so missed in a seasonal resort town where the sidewalks roll up after Labor Day, so missed during the long cold winter dry spell.
But just like the crocus and the daffodil the town is slowly starting to come alive, to wake up and come back. Slowly the long days of winter, stretch and yawn, shake the blustery sands from its eyes and sheds its winter underlays. Layer by layer like an onion the shards of winter pass through the time piece into lighter days, minute by minute.
Back from my walk, the garden gate is open anticipating the Ollie the dog to run through and take in a swift sniff of the fresh spring grass. The moon, just peeking through and shining its light on the garden shed, while my beloved companion runs wildly through the gardens. He is excited about the change of season, the joys of spring and finally a good long walk with his mistress.
Through the garden shed door, my tools are lined up in satisfying rows, scissors, shovels, and twine all within hands reach and the old porcelain sink filled with dried flowers from fall harvest. Beauty, it truly is in the eye of the beholder. To me this room is the ultimate fantasy – a space of my own for my flowers and furry friends, for the things that make me smile.
I will utilize every nook and cranny in my brain to revel in the art of missing. Missing the long summer days of tanned skin touched by the sun, the glow of the moon on the ocean, the heavy humid summer breeze filled with jasmine and that unmistakable scent of summer. This is the art of missing.