When the sweet, nectarous smell of orange blossoms filled my nose, the weather felt to be at its peak. With the help of San Diego's consistently warm days, our tree would bloom seemingly year round. On sunny days after school, I would sit under my tree. Like fairies dancing and spinning, the delicate white petals fell on the cool moist grass. They didn't make a sound. I would lay on the grass mesmerized by the blossoms smell. The petals drifted on my nose. Its smell is indescribable. Words like sweet, rich, or lush do it no justice. The orange essential oil does not come close to comparing to it. Its petals, so crisp, so white, so delicate. Its fragrance fills my dreams.

As I lay, mindlessly gazing up at the tree, a gentle warm breeze hugs the leaves. The sunlight sitting on them skips to the ground. The soft old cotton of my shirt tickles my arm. It is easy to forget about your responsibilities here. It is easy to fall into a dream. As the sun starts to set, the ground feels cooler, moister. The fairies retreat to their huts for the night. As jasmine flower, underneath my parent's bedroom window, blooms. Its scent, powerful and calm. You can hear the neighboring televisions. The laughing of friends. The college student’s skateboards gently bumping on the cracks of the sidewalk. The dogies being taken on walks. The darkness of night starts to encapsulate us. The street lights flicker on in replacement of the stars. “Dinner Cerise”, my mom calls. I act like I don’t hear her. I am lost in my thoughts. The stories in my head are far too important. I don’t want the dream to end. I don’t want the weight of reality to be set on my shoulders once again. I inhale the scent of orange blossoms one last time, I think my thanks to the tree and walk away.

I leave, but I know I can come back. I know that every day after school and every weekend without school, I can come back to this spot. To this place of peace and orange blossoms. I can not imagine functioning without it. In this place I'm able to clear my mind, to be in the moment. Without it, the stress of the world would tear me apart. I love my orange tree. I felt as if I would not leave it for anything. However, life is constantly moving forward. When I left, I knew my precious orange tree was in good hands.

Now, thousands of miles away from the places I knew. Thousands of miles away from San Diego's temperate weather. Here in the everchanging Colorado seasons, my spot has changed. On warm summer days, I lay in a hammock. As the wind blows and the grass sways, my toes splash the edge of the pond. On cold, wintery days I lay in my bed. I curl up with soft blankets and warm cats. It smells different here, earthy and crisp, fresh and clean. It does not smell of citrus. I miss those fragrant scents from my past. I miss those fairies. I will never forget that orange tree, those orange blossoms. However, as I look to the future I know I'll always find a new scent. A new place to clear my head, to center my soul. It is not the physical location that is so key. It is more of a place in the mind. A place to calm down. As long as you have your own orange blossom, your own hammock or blanket the world will slow its frantic spin.