When we lived in Pittsburgh, I was in and out of our church fairly often. I usually went in through the side entrance, which was closer to our parsonage.
Every year, on Maundy Thursday afternoon or Good Friday morning, the order of Easter lilies would be delivered and placed in the stairwell near the sacristy. Seeing those lilies, after the arduous season of Lent, especially at the end of Holy Week made such an impression on me that every year I wrote poems about the lilies. The scent of Easter lilies, to me, is the sweetest for so many reasons.
Into the darkness,
of the tomb
is the scent