Lilac memory

As a child, I loved dancing in the rain, even though my mother often got mad at me for doing so, and I would have preferred her to join me. Even today, she is angry with me when I walk barefoot at her house. She doesn't want me to catch a cold. I never heeded these well-intentioned advice and continued to secretly run out into the yard into the May rain, where the air smelled strongly of lilacs.

May was always the most beautiful. Grandmother sat on the wall of the flower bed under a blooming lilac and I often went to smell it and longed to immerse myself in its flowers. I remember once looking at her sitting under a lilac tree, leaning both hands on a mallet and dozing with a soft Mona Lisa smile on her lips. She enjoyed his scent as much as I did, and it crossed my mind that I would remember this moment forever as a memory of my grandmother, home, and family.

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I often recall memories, places and feelings with the smell. Sometimes my own mind boggles my mind because the smell brings images and places I have never been to in this life. A friend of mine recently told me that after digging up bones at an archeological dig, she finds it hard to believe in a soul and that we are nothing more than dust. And I, on the other hand, have never been more sure of anything than that the soul exists. I believe that the bones are the matter that holds us in this world, but the soul is eternal and like a thread it is pulled through different matter and connects with other threads.

Maybe that's why the day before my wedding, my friends brought me a huge bouquet of white lilac just for fun, which made the whole house smell good, and I ended up taking it to the ceremony instead of the prepared bouquet. The memory of my grandmother sitting under the lilac tree is one of my most beautiful memories of her, and perhaps the thread of her soul was woven into my little special day.