In praise of... my neighbour's jasmine

My neighbour's jasmine is no respecter of boundaries. It clearly doesn't know - or care - about the many disputes caused by overhanging leylandii or encroaching tree roots; neither did it read the memo about keeping to oneself, and allowing others their space. Instead, it comes tumbling generously over the dividing fence, overlaying and weaving itself into foliage, and cascading into the flowerbed, scattering white stars in its wake. For that alone I would be grateful, but there's more, because with it comes its perfume - oh, such an intense and heady perfume! - greeting me whenever I leave the house, or arrive home. 

During June's heat, when the air was heavy with languor, summer's scents were especially potent: an aromatic blanket enfolding me each evening, as I watered and pruned and marvelled at new, at times unexpected blooms... a perfumed wisp, gliding through windows. Thus far, this month has been cooler, wetter and breezier, and the jasmine less bountiful, already beginning its demise, but its fragrance still exists, wafting its gentle, sometimes damp, greeting to the residents of these two houses.

And to passersby. Today, as I sat at my desk, appreciative voices floated through the open window, exclaiming at the lovely smell. And even though it's my neighbour's jasmine and not mine (though some of its roots will have undoubtedly wandered under the fence, making it partly mine), I was so happy to hear those words. Scented plants are profligate in their giving, wafting their favours indiscriminately and extravagantly - and my neighbour's jasmine is no exception. Would that I - called to love, and to love widely - could do so with equal generosity!