The scent of phlox, and a trip back in time


Summer is most definitely becoming fall as I write this, so I thought I should post this photo before fall becomes so advanced that this summer’s phlox will be a very distant memory indeed.

This is the sole phlox plant that the Manse’s front yard boasts, but since I adore phlox I’ll take what I can get – and sometime soon I will get some more planted.

I love phlox for two reasons: one, it is beautiful, with all those red and pink and purple and white (and many shades in between) that the flowers come in; and two, it reminds me of my childhood, when the house across the road from ours (the Manse), where the late Will and Isabella Holmes lived, had a row of beautiful phlox bushes running along the sidewalk. To this day, the scent of phlox takes me right straight back to then, when, walking to meet the school bus or whatever, I’d stop and smell Will and Isabella’s phlox plants. It was a long, long time ago, but that truism about scent being the best memory trigger of all is – well, true, isn’t it?

On the morning in mid-August when I took this picture, the Manse’s phlox plant was not far from ending its blossoming work for the year (though I didn’t know it at the time). I stooped and smelled the blooms – and suddenly, for a few seconds at least, it could have been 1968 or so.

And that was kind of wonderful.

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