The scent of dandelions

I had forgotten the scent of dandelions.  At least until Tuesday, when in the early evening, I walked down a sun drenched hedgerow at the old Jesuit novitiate and was sent tumbling back into my childhood where the scent of dandelions wafted into my backyard from the vast expanse of lawn between the convent and St. Luke's parish church.

The smell heralded release.  The end of the school day, the end of the school year must be near when the scent of dandelions and new grass wafted through my backyard.

These days spring smells of licorice root mulch and with a whiff ozone from the copier ceaselessly churning out final exams.  I miss the scent of dandelions drifting through my window.