My most romantic moments will forever be tied to the aroma of orange blossoms. Whenever I smell orange blossoms, my mind, my spirit, my very soul go back to another time . . .

I was 15. Things were tough. My father couldn't hold a job. Mom had nearly killed herself trying to run a home laundry. Scraping the bottom of the barrel, we moved from Dallas to a shanty farm in south Texas. Our entire future was riding on tomato crops.

Oh, how I hated poverty! I was sensitive and proud. It was four miles to the town and school but I wouldn't accept rides. I'd walk. Even in the rain.

First day in school, I fell for red-haired, green-eyed Fran. It was unfortunate … Because Fran's mother didn't approve of me. Unlike mine, Fran's family was rich. But Fran figured out a way around her mother.

Friday nights, a church in town held teenager parties. I'd walk the four miles. It was spring and a million orange trees were in blossom. Fragrance was everywhere. Fran and I would go walking, stop in the shadows, embrace and kiss and whisper of love forever -- of love that would transcend all human situations.

But things turned bad. A hurricane saturated and rotted my father's beautiful tomato plants. We got out. We had to move back to Dallas.

Fran was broken hearted. I was devastated.

We promised we'd marry when we grew up. But at 17, Fran died from sudden, catastrophic illness.

Let flowers blossom in the spring and fill the night with perfume, and I am carried back to another time . . . carried back to beckoning shadows, and a girl's sweet arms and sweet lips and whispered pledges of love, forever . . .