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Bees buzz, Hummy birds whizz by in feeding frenzy 

Oracular the scent that sends me back to the wild vines that grew down by the creek, its cloying joy masking the lingered stink along the blood-stained banks where the Potomac overflowed downriver from Fort Hunt

And there was the local lore that an anguished son fresh back from the war, had hung himself - "You can still see the rope dangling from the tree" 

I had my first kiss by that babbling brook, perched on the fallen limb of a mighty oak - perhaps the very one on which the despaired boy lynched the life out of himself

That would explain alot