A June Bouquet

I WENT for a walk in our suburban neighborhood the other evening, a golden hour when the intoxicating scent of roses and honeysuckle vines drifted upward. Since I needed some exercise, I headed up a hill that once belonged to a large estate, many years ago, and is now a street of fastidious, expensive colonials, with parked cars and manicured turf. Pick-up trucks visit each outdoor carpet once a week and, with their arsenal of mowers, blowers and trimmers, landscape workers obliterate every trace of botanical insubordination.


