The lilac buds are here. This is the prelude to one of the most beautiful sights of the season. From a post I wrote last year,
Springtime is finally arriving. The surest sign is that lilacs are starting to bloom. I love lilacs. Every year I tell myself I'll spend more time looking at them than last year. Or that I'll place lavish bowlfuls of them on my tabletops, fresh every day, as long as they last. Every year, however, they fade more quickly than I can fulfill my resolution to the extent that I had hoped.
A number of years ago, I read a column by Ellen Goodman titled, "Fading Lilacs and Frantic Lives" (Boston Globe, June 16, 1996). She regrets the attention she didn't pay to their blooms, "The flowers had made their annual appearance on the bushes that stand beside my back door. For two weeks, they had permeated the air with a seductive promise the way a perfume wafts into the atmosphere of a department store I planned to take up their offer, to spend time in their company. But now the last of the blooms has turned a crusty deadhead shade of beige. And I had paid only the most transient of visits, enjoyed only a contact high, a small whiff of their possibilities."