Memory #1: the friend who gave me these plants. She has a beautiful garden and a beautiful mind.
Memory #2: comes first chronologically, since it dates back to childhood. My sisters and I used to sing this round, probably most often when we couldn't fall asleep at night:
White coral bells, upon a slender stalk,
lilies of the valley line my garden walk.
Oh, don't you wish that you could hear them ring?
That will happen only when the fairies sing.
Memory #3: in the Republic of Moldova I bought a bunch of these flowers from a little old grandmother selling them on the street. The bunch was tied together with a string. I put them in the room where I was staying. And then I noticed for the first time that I had developed a sensitivity to some floral scents. I had to move that little bunch of flowers a good six feet away from me.
Now I ask you, why do lilies of the valley even have a scent? The friend who gave me my first few plants warned me that they spread. And they do--they propagate mainly from rhizomes (a fancy way of saying they sending out roots as runners). They do bear seeds, but the rhizomes are a lot more productive. So, in a way, the whole flower-and-scent business is unnecessary.
When it comes to that, why do flowers come in so many different shapes and sizes, colors and scents? I happen to believe that the Creator scatters delight throughout creation on an even grander scale than my friend scatters delight throughout her own garden (which is far more enchanting than mine). What do you believe?
