Last evening, for the first time this year, our neighborhood was awash with the scent of orange blossoms. There are few scents that can compete with it, although the smell of greasewood in the desert following a rain is an equal and perhaps its superior.
It is said that various scents are powerful triggers for our memories. I can attest to that. A whiff of diesel fuel takes me back to early mornings on an Army post. The smoke from Camel cigarettes can achieve the same trick.
I cannot smell the orange blossoms without thinking of Cochise Hall at the University of Arizona where the breezes and open windows conspired to take one's mind away from the books, drifting it outside to anywhere, just so it was out of doors.
[Photo: Courtesy of Christopher Yoder]
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