Last night, as I made my usual 9:41 p.m. Starbucks run (grande soy chai latte, if you were possibly wondering), I was stung by the sudden fragrance of fresh honeysuckle that has just bloomed in the middle of our yard.

For the longest time, we wondered what that bush might be. Well, last night, it let us know in a full fragrant song that filled my night with a whirling merriment I have not known since I lived on a farm in southern Maryland.

Smelling that honeysuckle reminded me of so many things in my own life, but as I inhaled deeply time and time again, I tripped well beyond my own years and knew–just knew–that what I was experiencing was exactly what William Wordsworth or Henry David Thoreau had experienced so many years ago when they wrote their poetry and their prose about the romantic beauty held timeless in a newly blossom’d flower.

These are the moments when I get a greater sense of being a part of something much bigger than the world that surrounds me today. Such scents as bursting honeysuckle on a late spring evening connect us to something that we can only begin to appreciate if we take the time to inhale deeply, let the fresh scents fill us fully, and see the possibility of what beauty flows in the air, unseen to the eye, timeless to the mind, yet strongly passionate with the heart.

I shall keep these windows open to let the sweet smell of honeysuckle and the other dewy flowers fill this house, this soul, this heart with a song sung for centuries that reminds us all what glorious miracles are ever-present, if we awaken enough to let them find us.