Lime blossom, Charles Trenet, John Voight and a summer Tom Collins
Abundance: Tuesday 9 July 2024
A year and two weeks ago, I realised I’d been walking on the wrong side of the river. I’d been doing it for a few mornings before I recognised I was auto-piloting along the side I usually favour least on my morning loop with the hound: perhaps the appeal of a change; maybe to give myself a better chance of coinciding with the man who, long handled walking poles in hand, sings standards from the 20s, 30s and 40s as he strides towards the sea. La Mer never sounded so good than through tatty willows across the river that splits yet unites this town.
The day I realised I had made a habit of the wrong side, I picked up a faint scent. The next day stronger. One of three smallish lime trees was in flower1. Its distance from the path and the cloudiness of the sky diluted its fragrance, but it was there in the air.
A week later and my shoes took me across the usual bridge to my usual side of the river of their own accord. Had they been slip ons, they might have walked themselves over had my feet stopped.
On a bank a few yards from the path, a huge cathedral of a lime stands regal as if being carried shoulder high to the sea. I walked around it, its branches hanging almost to the ground, swaying in the breeze as if to the theme from Midnight Cowboy. The sun now strong, the scent enveloped me. It was like happily drowning in a cloud of lemon honey.
More words plus recipes for Lime flower cordial, and A Summer Tom Collins below