That September Smell

I've tried many times to write something here that's positive and uplifting but every time I get about half-way through the first paragraph and the words dry up. Still, after seven months, it's only sad thoughts that can find expression and I know there's a point where even the dearest of friends might start to think - isn't time she started to get over it?
But here I am, down at the beach where the blue sunny day of yesterday disappeared and produced heavy rain and wild South Gippsland winds. I'm clearing out cupboards, washing glass doors, sorting crockery and wondering again if this week any of the local tradesmen will ever turn up as promised. Because this beautiful house that we transformed from a humble fibro bungalow all those years ago will go on the market this spring to be emptied, handed over and farewelled, a chapter closed.

No, this is not a real estate ad. Most of you won't even know where this is but those who do might be thinking - "How could she?"
And I do too. How can I close the door on all those sublime memories of beach walks, afternoon siestas, beloved dogs swimming in the sea, friends gathering for food and wine and laughter. Philip happy to get up early the next morning and wash load after load of glasses because he loved everyone to have a new glass for each wine.

Friends to stay, neighbours to visit, Christmas breakfasts on the beach and everyone to help in the garden.

It's the silences I find so hard. Where once, when evening rolled around, there he was, playing guitar, singing snatches of the latest new song - 'listen to this and tell me what you think' - or taking over the cooking of dinner when I baulked at more crispy potatoes. Now, inside, there's a deadly silence; outside, just the wind, the blackness of night and the roar of the sea. 

There were always dogs with us - dearest Barney, rescued late in his life and forever joyous, dippy Archie, barricaded out of the kitchen, virtuous Stella who loved a deep and meaningful conversation.
Beautiful memories, too sad to indulge.

With winter set to depart there are snowdrops at the gate, as ever.

The wooden figures that we made in protest at the desal plant ("There are better ways!") still hang on the gate. When we head for a walk 'down the big sandhill' Stella and Archie race ahead to check things out. It's all predictable, all beloved.

 Today though, I knew I had to leave. Heading off down the big sandhill a perfume in the air grabbed me by the heart and made me falter. It was the smell of approaching September, the sweet honey-scented air surrounding the banks of the Bootlace Bush in full bloom. It was one of the first thing we noticed when we bought the place all those years ago and something we commented on to each other every year at just this time.

A smell does powerful things to you and this one brought it all rushing back - the sudden decision to purchase this tiny house when we had nothing in the bank, bringing friends out onto the beach, through the just-flowering native shrubs, to ask their opinion, the annual arrival of that September smell. 'Spring's on the way!'
It is, and should be, a beautiful memory, but one that I find hard to bear.

So soon there will be a turning away - farewell house, goodbye remote and beautiful beach. The friends and neighbours I will keep, I know that. I love them too much to ever be without them. It's just that when the September smell fills the air next year and the bootlace bushes bloom, I need to be somewhere else, where the memories can't get to me and break my heart.

The Bootlace Bush - Pimelia Axiflora

~*~