In Celebration of Small Things: Tropical Beauty

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My dog walks early in the morning before the ascendancy of the heat, takes me around the block of a salubrious inner city suburb where the gardens are rich with every tropical colour and smell. My favourite is the Frangipani. Whether p8nk or white, its subtle fragrance, carries the embodiment of the islands of the Pacific. As Marcel Proust reminds us in his timeless work À La Recherche Du Temps Perdu’  our olfactory sense is the most potent gateway to the past.
My mother had a Frangipani tree in her front garden, which became a place of refuge (from the emotional turmoil of my childhood) solace and wonder. I would spend hours watching the ants march up the tree to gorge on the sap when I had picked flowers for a fairy crown. But it was that soft yet heady smell which embodied the possibility of another life in another realm.
Now as I smell the aroma in the suburbs and city of Brisbane I am taken back to a time when the child that I was created a rich fantasy world using the beauty around her.

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