The scented candle upon the table. A vivid red colour reminiscent of cinnamon hearts candy, which in turn is a reminder of Valentine’s Day. A day to show love… or our understanding of it.

It’s the fragrance of wildflowers, even before they are lit, that brings me through the memory of time. A true time travel experience where I’m transported to the flower shops of my dating life, clumsily selecting pre-picked bouquets in hopes this will be enough to show I’m at least trying. It was the nervousness of carrying the paper-wrapped parcel, crumpling in my hands, just to see the joyful illumination in their eyes. For a moment, a feeling of elation knowing that I was able to brighten a day.

Then I’m off to my teenage years when I would burn incense in my bedroom to overcome the stuffy smell. You know, rather than doing something useful like opening a window or, wait for it, actually cleaning my room.

And then it’s the distant memory, slowly creeping in, of my childhood and the flowers which my mother would place as the centerpiece of the table. Gifts from those who were showing their appreciation for all the work she did, placed in the same green, glass vase she used every time a new bouquet came in. It was the smile on her face as she proudly put them on display that, for some reason, made me happy as well.

Which brings this trip full circle.

And I’m back again, at the table of my home, staring into the scented candles on the table and wondering what journey this will bring my own children to in the reflective years of their life.

Things are never simple and yet, they absolutely are.