“Dôme épais, le jasmine
à la rose s’assemble,
rive en fleurs, frais matin
nous appellent ensemble …”
Like a sound mite, that section of the opera keeps playing over and over and over again in my mind, reminding me of the two elegant ladies that sang the wonderful piece, each lady belting out her part from her heart, as they narrated out the simple but profound French countryside tale, and making everyone in the audience reminisce of a time in the past, when life was simpler, and had less concrete walls, but more live hedges, and when birds chirped more in the mornings, high atop all the many trees that dotted the countryside.
And you, you were with me in that opera, and you leaned over to me, and rested your head on my shoulder, and clasped my hands, and had this dreamy look on your face, and I could tell that you too longed for that countryside life, where winds whistled through the pines, and the passerines did their murmurations in the evening skies, and the clouds themselves swirled and swooped and formed a million different shapes, all for our express joy and cheer, as we celebrated our inviolable partnership with mother nature: beautiful, ever giving, ever kind mother nature.
Years have passed since that day in the opera, and so much has happened since, including us drifting apart, but I truly hope that if you ever go into an opera again, and listen to “The flower duet”, that you’ll remember me, and the countryside, and the simple beauties of beholding and experiencing nature, and that, like a fluttering butterfly, you’ll skip over daisies, and dip into a thousand flowers, and be one with nature, again.