Heavy Perfume

I'm standing on the corner of Passeig de Gracia and Valencia.  Someone near me in the crowd wears strong perfume.  Too strong.  We wait together for the light.  Which one is she?  Can't she tell she has on too much?  OK, I admit, I do kind of like it.  It smells good, a clean, pure, uncomplicated scent.  OK, I admit, I love it.  The smell of spring, warm days, happiness.  I will ask her what she is wearing.  Which one is she?  The light changes and everyone spills into the street except me.  I am still searching.  The scent doesn't move away.  A breeze sweeps in and brings it on even stronger now.  I look up, across the street and finally see her:  the orange tree on the opposite corner.  Fat with blossoms, laughing that spring is here!