The ever warming evenings of early May are filled with the rich yet soft fragrance of confederate jasmine in full bloom. Perhaps the aroma seems strong because the darkness and stillness of the night obstructs any distractions and allows the olfactory system to act as the dominant sense.
The confederate jasmine vine on the estate climbs high up the trunk and out into the branches of the live oak in whose shade I park each evening. In the morning the jeep is sprinkled with white pinwheel blossoms like a big red cookie dusted with sugar.
Each bloom sits as if sleeping until I pull from the drive and out onto the street and slowly accelerate. As the blossoms are gently awaken by the stirring air, they scamper along the rooftop and in a single stream are gently pushed off and float to the street behind me. In my rear view mirror I can see the soft scattered flowers littering the hard blacktop.
My jeep is the flower girl and whichever neighbor’s car follows is the bride strolling the aisle.