Lilac

The lilacs are out, brought here many years ago and planted by the settlers who homesteaded, etching their existence in the mountains in a time before reliable roads, bridges, a post office, telephones. They come back year after year, fragrant as ever, fluffing themselves purple, white and green with the life they have nursed underground all winter long.

And with them, the butterflies, the hummingbirds, the sweet scent of late spring placed in a jar in the centre of my kitchen table.