Posted in Writing Life

*Not Lilacs

On my walks, I see what is commonly considered pretty, the gardens of tulips and the lilac trees. I stop to smell the flowers. But they are not what makes my heart sing. I find that in the streets that are not typically beautiful. These are the streets that revel in urban industry, the factories and warehouses built before suburban industrial parks existed. It’s here that my curiosity is piqued. It’s here that I discover the odd gifts that lift my heart.

I went back today with my camera to take a picture of this veranda swing, affixed to a tree on one of these downtown industrial streets.

click to enlarge

I sat in the swing and totally relaxed as I hadn’t for days, though the view wasn’t anything pretty. It was more of a gift because of the unexpected setting. Some unknown person (who? why?) had generously set up this swing for passersby here of all places.

click to enlarge

On my walk today, a greyish day, I met several old people walking, smiling at me with their lifetime of character crinkling in their faces. They would not be considered lilacs either. There are no magazine articles on 10 ways to wrinkle your face in interesting ways. No–that takes years and years. There are no creams to manage it. Just the hand of time blessing us.


Lilian is the author of Web of Angels, a novel about a mom with DID (multiple personalities). She's also the author of the historical novels, The River Midnight and The Singing Fire, about secrets, friendship and motherhood in 19th century Poland and London.

6 thoughts on “*Not Lilacs

  1. And they are dieing because we have decided we don’t want to build anything in Canada anymore, by our decision not to buy things built in Canada, which means we have decided our working class neighbours do not deserve good well paying union jobs anymore and we all suffer for it.

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