Blogue d'un québécois expatrié en Angleterre. Comme toute forme d'autobiographie est constituée d'une large part de fiction, j'ai décidé de nommer le blogue Vraie Fiction.
Sunday 15 June 2014
The fragrance of lavender
The evil witch I used to have as a downstairs neighbour and who worked very hard to poison my life is now gone. As I think I mentioned before, she was also the self-appointed gardener of this block and self-proclaimed regent of the darn place. So anyway she sold her house, left the place and left the garden as it is, unattended. So plants keep on growing, untended. I should be angry, but I don't care one bit. The witch is gone, I prefer an untended garden to one that is run by a crazy busybody. But I noticed something today: lavender growing in various patches by the building. And I love the smell of lavender. I associate it more with the South of France, especially Provence, something that they put in clothes so they can smell fresh. I love the smell of lavender, when it is real, fresh lavender. I am kind of tempted to use the lavender of the garden in the same fashion, put some on my clothes to have the fragrance on them. It's not like anyone will care anyway. The gardeners that come here are basically glorified lawnmowers and they were doing what the witch was telling them to do, which is very little. Now they'll keep on mowing the lawn and do very little else. And the plants are going to grow wild anyway, until (and unless) someone in the board of administrators decide to do anything. That said, I am maybe just as keen to let the lavender grow wild. I will enjoy its fragrance in the garden and remember that the evil witch is gone every time I smell it.