I remember the heavenly scent of lilac hedges
and yellow Caragana flowers
on our way home from school.
And Bleeding Heart bushes
in someone’s front yard.
They showed me how to make them talk
by squeezing them.
I remember a shortcut path down the bank just over the bridge,
through the woods along the creek,
smells of damp mud, deciduous trees.
I believed Billy Goat Gruff’s troll lived under that bridge.
©Sharron R. McMillan