Real, unadulterated, pure citrus blossom scent dances through the air this time of year. So heady, the fragrance at times throws my equilibrium off ever so slightly.
Who’d have thought such a small delicate looking blossom could carry so much weight. Of course, it helps that each tree holds hundreds of blossoms and that there are thousands upon thousands of citrus trees in our area.
The Phoenix area once was filled with many, many more orchards, but those have given way to houses and retail spaces, parks and roads. But there remain enough trees to fill the air to overflowing with an ocean of citrus scent.
Driving past an orange grove causes gas pedals to lift, cars to slow. Runners strides shorten, walkers linger, bicyclists find a reason to stop. Everyone breathes deeper when the breath of citrus blossoms pirouette in the breeze and flit about in the open.
There it is. That sweet, tangy burst of color in a smell. Can you sense the bright mellow, flourescent pastel taste mixed with oxygen? Add a sparkle of fairy dust and you have the exact recipe for this cologne.
There it is again. Take a deep breath. Hold it, let it swirl through your mind, now exhale slowly. Then grab another breath, don’t get too greedy, there’s plenty for everyone. Ahhhh. Now don’t you feel better? I know I do.
The perfume of citrus blossom energizes, fills, enhances, charms, freshens, enlivens and lifts even the most curmudgeonly of souls.
A temporary scent at best, in a few brief weeks its intoxicating powers will disappear, leaving behind a memory that many will recall throughout the year. Anticipating the nirvana of blooming trees rivals Christmas. I wonder at the lack of an orange festival in an area filled to overflowing with citrus. How about a grapefruit fiesta, a lemon merengue menagerie, a tangelo tango, a lime holiday, a kumquat parade?
I suppose we all celebrate and imbibe in our own private ways.
Like a fine Dandelion Wine, the memories of a beautiful day are hidden and kept, bottled and stored in an orange, a grapefruit, or a lemon. The beauty of a spring day bursts out of citrus fruit like the riot of blossoms in March. Bite into an orange, slice a grapefruit, squeeze a lime, press your lips to a lemon and tell me it isn’t so.
Me, I prefer to simply be outdoors, letting the blossom revolution of citrus fill my head. The cologne eau de citre’ sings a melody so memorable, I find myself almost dancing. Nothing else says spring quite like this.