A woman entered the shop, a fashionably dressed older woman with a hairstyle just like Mimi’s, cut close at the nape, bushing out above the ears. She knew just what she wanted. Mimi opened a little flask of Parisian perfume and stroked the woman’s wrist with the stopper.
“Oh, but it is so expensive”, the customer whispered, looking longingly at the pretty bottle.
“Here, try this one, Odalisque. It’s a trifle warmer don’t you think? A little exotic?”
A heavy fragrance rose around them enclosing them in the atmosphere of a seraglio in the Arabian Nights – while a mile away at Goose Pond a ray of sunshine slanted into the deep kettle hole and stroked the petals of a thousand blooms on an elderberry bush. At once the blossoms opened and released their delicate scent into the June air, free of charge.
– Jane Langton, God in Concord
My second book of Langton, and I am loving the narrative.
*Concord (noun): An agreeable combination of tones simultaneously heard; a consonant chord; consonance; harmony.
Crossposted in Babblogue.