Eco Poetry: Oana Maroti
There are paths to elevation, and mine lies through my sense of smell. Spring stimulates a personal search for blossoming.
The first elderflowers opened and attracted me with their familiar scent, which is so rare in the region where I live.
I stop to fully inhale the floral aroma with a slightly lemony undertone, the taste of childhood's first juice.
Elderberry, soc, Sambucus flower drinks, with their tangy taste, carbonated or not, are in my genes, so if I smell elderberry flower, I take it as an event of the utmost importance and seek out the flower, because it's like a cerebral massage, that works by enveloping, seeping through the sense of smell.
I've only seen a few Sambucus in the city, in parks and gardens. In April, I go looking for them from the top of the hill, all the way to the center, to Ciutadella, where there are more Sambucus plants, in the ping-pong area, at the foot of the stairs leading to the Golden Chariot. From there, the sculptor tests our wits. The chariot is pulled by horses and driven by a goddess. If we don't see the rest of this, the climb is lost.
Meditating deeply on the imposed inequity that women go through in this world, with the cherished scent of flowers still lingering in my nostrils, I return home and make myself some Sambucus, soc flower tea, using the dried flowers sent last year by my family. A true Transilvanian is never in a shortage of elderberry flowers or mint and loves tea.
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