Perth, Western Australia experienced a once in a 100 year weather event last week. We were lashed by rain, some of the highest recorded falls and coldest summer days, in recent history. It was undeniably winter, in the middle of summer.
I was hundreds of kilometres away and wondered how my parched summer garden was coping with the onslaught. I made a cup of coffee early morning and went outdoors … to this.
I have several different kinds of jasmine in my garden in shrub form and a climber. The shrubs vary in size, with this one well over 8-10 feet high. It is the most generous plant in my garden. With a little nurturing, it lays down a perfumed carpet. The bees love it, as do I! A wonderful reminder … when you have something beautiful to give, a 100 year storm cannot destroy it.
The perfume of jasmine is where home is. I recall in the India of my childhood, women wore strings or slender garlands of jasmine entwined in their braids or chignon. It was a familiar adornment around homes and temples where garlands of flowers are hung over the entrance. It was worn as a bracelet by teenagers, giddy with puberty. A symbol of femininity and grace, it was a flower most closely associated with women. My mother found the scent of jasmine too heady. She preferred roses. She often tucked a perfect rose bud alongside her chignon.
For me, the perfume of jasmine grounds me. It reminds me of a time when I felt safe and secure. The indelible memory, the experience, of being home. And, that’s how I feel now. As I write, the heaven scent wafts in intermittently. I’m home.
May you find ‘home’ today where ever you may be.
Until next time
a dawn bird