The fragrant trees lilt a heavy perfume on evening air. Orange and mandarin and dogwood.

The Prom pink long stem roses like nubile debutante' on elderly boughs plucked in white gloved hands for dried arrangements almost 40 years.

Some open and fragile set in mason jars with spring load caps on wide stepped porches.

The deep purple Wandering Jew by the iron glider lightly floating on the moonlight breeze.

Peppery geraniums, red, white, and pink stave off pesky mosquitos.

The abundent mint just waiting to garnish sweet tea and Mellons for summer brunches.

Baby peaches peeking through glossy leaves for liberty parties and vanilla icecream to freeze the roof of your mouth.

Seasons come and go and the gallent officer beu long lost seems to guard with the Angels that honor also long gone parents and pets.

It is peaceful and serene but not genteel in the labor it took years to build. Or keep in elegant repair.

And she will whisper to suitors behind the Olenander shrubs. Over tea or julips or good whiskey neat.