rosa

Some mornings, early, while I tend to my many potted plants, my nose would catch a scent.

Orchid, once nurtured by my dad

A sweet scent, fleeting; lasting a few seconds.

I'd stop from what i'd be doing, stand straight, and breathe in. The scent, it's mildly sweet. I didn't know whence it came. It's there and then it's gone.

And then it occurred to me that the sweet scent smelt just like the attar my father once used whenever he went to the mosques.