Sometimes, without warning, it comes.
Not from a flower.
Not from perfume.
Not from anything I can see.
It arrives as quietly as a whisper, carrying a fragrance so gentle that my heart recognizes it before my mind can ask where it came from.
I have searched for its name many times.
I have never found one.
It is softer than jasmine.
Warmer than vanilla.
Lighter than rain upon spring blossoms.
It is not a scent that belongs to the earth alone.
It feels like a memory…
or perhaps a promise.
Whenever it finds me, the world grows still.
The hurried thoughts become quiet.
The worries loosen their grip.
For a brief moment, I remember what peace feels like.
I have often wondered if heaven leaves little reminders behind.
Not enough for our eyes to see,
but enough for our hearts to remember.
Perhaps love has its own fragrance.
Perhaps kindness does too.
Perhaps every prayer whispered with sincerity leaves behind a sweetness that cannot be measured, only felt.
I no longer need to know its name.
Some mysteries become more beautiful when they remain mysteries.
They remind us that not everything precious can be explained.
Some gifts are simply meant to be received with gratitude.
So whenever that delicate fragrance returns, I close my eyes, smile, and whisper,
“Thank You, Lord.”
Because whether it comes from memory,
from hope,
or from heaven itself,
it always leaves my heart a little lighter than before.
With Agape love,
Migdalia
“Because of the savour of thy good ointments thy name is as ointment poured forth…”
— Song of Solomon 1:3