Aromas and hazy memories

   There is an area of the walking path that borders Stow Lake in Golden Gate Park that frequently has wonderful fragrances as I walk past it in the early morning hours. At times reminding me of something like cotton candy (or rather the jelly bean flavor of cotton candy), at others, of my paternal grandparents home in Queens, New York. I remember there would be a large bowl out in the living room filled with candies shaped and colored like blackberries and raspberries, whose fragrance would permeate the room.
   There are other occasions at the lake where the smell in this stretch is equally sweet, the scent familiar, though I am unable to locate it in my experience.

   I have no idea what tree or bush it is there that produces these aromas, nor do I really wish to. I so appreciate that the things that I smell often feel like they bypass my brain altogether, imprinting only my olfactory nerve.
   I find it quite beautiful that a thing so commonplace can at times feel so exotic indescribable.

Doesn't look extraordinary, does it?