A cold winter day, bare branches, monochrome landscape, the world is dead. As I walked along the blanket of grey was pierced by an intense floral fragrance. Where was it coming from? I looked around, nothing, then up, there, bare stick branches studded with bursts of soft pinkness.
My urge was to gather these sticks in greedy armfuls and take them back to my friends house, ill, stuck inside, I wanted to brighten his day with wonderful fragrance, a breath of new hope.
But that would be unfair, others passing the same spot would be deprived of this wonderful experience. What better than a potted gaggle of hyacinths, their intoxicating perfume generously fills the room.
The fat buds colour up as they get ready to burst open into fragrant stars. Not coy flowers, they are exuberant. Climbing higher up the stem, as the flowers open, the plants raucously throw themselves out over the edge of the pot in a dizzy haze of perfume.