Me, the rabbits and the rest

What’s the name of this place? It’s a place that smells of lavender. And lavender is such a fickle scent. Hard to capture, hard to keep. Kind of like me in a way.

The place is a lone willow tree. It’s large. So large, you could seat at least a dozen people around its trunk. The breeze is wafting through its leaves, which hang down in a circle, forming a realm in which we exist.

Me, the rabbits and the rest.

My life is spent searching for the lavender scent. I started with every branch, climbing to the very top, seeing the other trees in the distance. Then, I looked at every vein in the tree’s bark, scratching all of them open until my hands were sticky with sap. I’m about to move on to every leaf, but I’m taking a break. There are many leaves to inspect. It might consume what little time I have left.

I lay my head on the grass in my favorite spot, east of the tree. From here, I can see a gap in the canopy. I spend hours deciphering the shade of blue that the sky is wearing that day. I turn my head to the side, catching a glimpse of the world beyond the tree. The grass stretches endlessly, coating valleys and swerving around streams far far away. There are so many colours I’ve yet to discover. Yet, the fragrance anchors me here. I close my eyes and inhale. I have to find its source.

Hold on, I think.

Energy rushes through me. I stand up, looking at the patch of blue - azure, today - above my favorite spot. I beam at the curious bunny beside the tree, and I run. Past the leaves, past the grass, past the streams, until I’m too far to find my way back. I’m knee deep in the ocean, stretching my arms out and screaming with the seagulls by the time I stop.

And wouldn’t you know it.

Amidst the salt and the iodine, there it is.

Lavender.

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