Lilacs are the most perfect of buds, expertly wrapped in leathery veneer. Once the weather turns, they swell before our eyes, making kinetic the potential stored in them all winter.
I remember my mother cutting flowers from the lilac bush outside our back door, bouquets that spilled over a large snifter vase — the centerpiece of our dining room table. If I close my eyes, I can almost smell the memories.
That persevering bush from our childhood home has become old and brittle, and a large section broke this winter during a heavy snow. It stood sentry for more than 40 years, a witness to the comings and goings of my family. I can’t imagine the back door without it.
Perhaps it’s not done yet and holds another season of potential within.