The sweet smell of honeysuckle was the top note in the perfumery that enveloped our walk to the gate this afternoon. The lush boughs of white ti ti would have been overpowering alone, but when tiny bell-like blueberry blossoms, purple and yellow irises in the stream bed, and cinnamon ferns swirled in the soft breeze, the resulting aromatherapy took the sore from my shoulders and the vertical fret line from my brow.
The Louisiana yellow irises that now thrive in the stream bed are the only thing besides one calla lily bulb that I actually planted on the walk from house to gate. Everything else found its way here by itself. There are purple irises in the stream bed, too. Together they put on quite a show each spring.