More Wheeler Farm in May

Spring run off.

These are weed flowers as tiny as forget-me-nots only pink. There were tons of these at the farm today.

 Whenever I smell lilacs I think of the four childhood years I spent in Iowa. Not long before we moved to Utah, my parents left us children (they had seven at the time, five of them younger than me) to go on a house-hunting trip. Somehow I was sent to stay at a church member's home all by myself. An older couple lived there, not too far from my school, and worked during the day. After school, I came back to a quiet empty house. I missed my siblings. It was too quiet.
But I had my own room for the first time in my life. 

In the room was a desk just below a window where I could sit and do my homework. Most days, the window was open when I came back from school A perfect breeze blew through that window and gently lifted the white cotton curtains up over the desk and into the room. Right outside the window were lilac bushes. The scent and the situation brought the most serene, beautiful feeling. When I smell lilacs, I think of that room and of Iowa. It brings back a rush of joyful childhood feelings.