February 8, 2013
The winter honeysuckle smells sweet and serene. Tiny white blossoms are unfurling. I moved the vase with its four little branches to the bedroom. The smell is helplessly alluring.
The witch hazel has finally given it up for me, and is allowing a very slight but very intoxicating spicy scent to wash over me at odd times when I am not looking, and especially when I am not expecting it. Unnerving.
The sunny forsythia is opening bright and happy, the yellow cornelian cherry is making moves to open, and the pink buds of the Dawn viburnum are ever so slightly looser, and promise a scent that I can't quite detect yet.
You cannot imagine the sensory dissonance here today.
Outside all is white and colorless and cold, as the falling snow slowly devours any landscape features. Inside, the heady scents of delicate spring blooms surprise me at strange times, not all the time, but every once in a while as I roam from window to window to monitor the storm.
If you are going to bring branches into the house for forcing, do it a week before a Nor'easter bears down on you.
The sensory contrast is extraordinary.