Where Lilacs Grow

Where Lilacs Grow

The above verse, sent to me by a friend, put me in mind of an experience I had several years ago. At the time, I was a staff member of a large mental health agency and one of my jobs was to oversee the production of promotional materials.

This particular morning, I had an appointment with a writer who I hadn't met previously but I knew her by her reputation as a poet. She had been hired to write a series of volunteer handbooks.

Close to the agency there was a large grove of lilac bushes, blossoming and beautifully fragrant and, though I really didn't have the time (my meeting was set for nine o'clock sharp and it was almost nine o'clock then), I couldn't resist stopping to pick some lilacs for my office.



As I walked through the main doors of the agency, I was told that the writer had been shown into my office and was waiting for me there. I felt terrible walking in late to a meeting with a bouquet of hastily picked lilacs, but the writer seemed oblivious to the time and was writing intently in a small black book.

Before I could introduce myself, she looked up from her writing and said;

"Oh my goodness, it's you!"

Never having set eyes on the women, I had no idea where she knew me from so I asked:

"Have we met before?"

"No", she smiled, "But I was just writing a poem about you."

She gestured to the journal she had been writing in and continued:

"On my way to meet you this morning, I saw a bunch of lilac trees. I looked closer and I could see a woman with long brown hair in among the trees. With a briefcase in one hand, the woman was standing on her tip-toes picking lilacs and I thought to myself this most beautiful scene must be made into a poem . When I got to your office, I was happy to have a few minutes alone to begin writing the poem and then suddenly here you are with the lilacs!"

She got up from her chair and hugged me and that was by far, the strangest way I've ever made someone's acquaintance.