It smelled like spring. Like the scent of blossoms on the trees, lining our street, and the bushes bursting forth sweet lilac-flavored promises of more to come, if you just come around the next corner or sneak into Mrs. So-n-So’s back yard.
It also smelled like the grass of a soccer field, with bunches of little feet scuffing through the blades, turning those white sneakers and knee caps green. With the breath of moms and dads encouraging those little ones to hang in there, just a little longer, until they can break out the orange slices. .
Like the scent of promise and what-if’s. It smelled like what smiles and laughter and giggling and rolling down a hill, pell-mell, with a new best friend, smells like. Like that.
(It has been a bit of a wonderment to me, Heaven.)
What will it look like? Will I get in? Who will I see if I get in? and, secretly, What will I wear/eat/drink/do in Heaven?But in all my wonderings of Heaven, If forgot to wonder this…I forgot to wonder about the scent of heaven. I’m pretty sure it smells like spring in Westminster.
I hope so.