Driving home alone

The Rainbow Chorus will present its two spring concerts this weekend (Friday evening in Waterloo and Saturday evening in Guelph), which makes for an unusually busy week, hardly any quiet time sandwiched between extra practices. Emerging from the dress rehearsal in Waterloo at 9:30 this evening, I was surprised to find myself not exhausted but buoyed by people and events of my life, especially pleasant reverberations of the the long weekend past. I sank into the half-hour drive home as into a pleasant bath. Flipping through my CD case, I pulled out a favourite I hadn't listened to in several years.

Some of Robert Schumann's music is overrated, but his Piano Quintet is a masterpiece of 19th Century chamber music. The second movement alone is a study in departure from Classical form, but its Romanticism is never overblown. In fact, despite occasional moodiness, the work is prevalently good-natured. And just as the finale seems poised to end with an ambiguously blustery note, it breaks into a satisfying and valiant fugue.

The quintet pleasantly distracted me as I headed home.

I happened to return via Kossuth Road instead of the usual Highway 7. This triggered a sense memory from years ago, probably 1986 guessing by the geography of my life: one beautiful spring morning, driving along Kossuth Road with the window rolled down, I was suddenly overwhelmed with the fragrance of lilacs, and noticed a long bank of them lined the shoulder.

This busy week I've frequently seen them blooming en route from here to there, but never had time to stop or visit Lilac Way. Theirs is my favourite fragrance. I couldn't let another night go by without smelling it. Kossuth Road was quiet, so I slowed and kept an eye on the periphery of my headlights. Sure enough, that famous row of bushes appeared. I circled back and pulled onto the shoulder.

I rolled the window down so Schumann's music could accompany me, but outside it was nearly drowned by songs of toads in nearby fields. I went to the lilacs and buried my face in their bosom, drawing the smell lustily into my nostrils. I walked up and down, sampling different bushes. Several passing cars caught me in their headlights. I must have looked like a lunatic.

As a memento, I snapped off one twig of pale blossoms to bring home. Now it's filling my apartment with redolence of a warm spring night, when the air makes love to the earth.