Sunday was Hot as Hell! I like my share of sunshine, but waking up at 6:30 am to ingest an Alka Seltzer (we overdid the din-dins and drinky-poos Saturday night), it was already 75 degrees Fahrenheit. Discretion being surely the better part of valor in this case, I gave up on my 9am riding lesson and went back to bed for an hour. We subsequently spent a lazy day, mostly indoors, as it was too hot to even enjoy the pool.The result of all that added calorific sunshine to the neighborhood's already well fed and watered plants has been a "bloom-boom" and waves of aggressive perfumery that would make a Triffid feel embarrassed at it's own paltry attempt at post-apocalyptic World domination, in comparison.
Yesterday, although ten degrees cooler than the triple digits of the day before, it was still nice and toasty as I set out in the morning with my old furry dog to complete our morning rounds of the 'Hood.
First off, my next-door neighbor has jasmine as ground cover. Wham! Into a solid wall of fragrance. Surviving that caramel-sweet encounter we moved slowly on, passing nuclear powered English Roses and almost succumbing to the nauseating droning fragrance of Mexican Orange; the "B" list of citrus smells. We hadn't yet made it to the end of the block and it was obvious that there was some kind of teeth-baring face-off going on, to decide who would be Alpha Aroma plant for the day.
Continuing bravely into the olfactory essences; unmitigated by the slightest wisp of air movement; we rounded the bend into a staccato hail of Gardenia gunshots, the source recognizable by the telltale creamy-white muzzle flashes in the dark green foliage. Ducking for cover we made it into a place of temporary respite; a garden planted with drought tolerant native plants on one side and, on the other, the fried-to-a-crisp remains of what just yesterday was a spectacular display of bearded iris.
Into the home stretch now, although mauled by undiluted honeysuckle and pursued by Peonies; which I usually liken to the magic drops placed on the eyelids to enhance the experience of a Midsummer Night's Dream; but on this day was so strong as to be a shockingly noisome Bitch-slap of scent. One last effort to get past the high-pitched exhuberance of Sweet-Peas and thankfully back into the house, whence to recover from the woozy and pscychadelic effects brought on without ever having smoked a thing. Whew!
