Some plants are just more romantic than others. Like lavender. I see it and think of my beloved Jane Austen books. I think of how the Dashwood sisters would surely have had little sachets of it among their linens. Or how Lizzy Bennet might have used a stem as a fragrant bookmark.
I touch the leaves and carry the scent on my fingertips, a little more spicy than sweet, and can hear the quiet summer breeze that makes lavender fields bob and nod like the plants are about to fall asleep, lazy under the bright sunshine.
Just thinking of lavender also brings to mind cool white cotton dresses with touches of eyelet lace. Bare feet. Cut grass. Dirt paths that connect neighbors.
