As a child, the bush sat there, boxed up
Big, beautiful, and oozing out the most magnificent fragrances my young nose had ever encountered. 
Our yard smelled like lavender far from the bush, creating one of the most beautiful and scenic places to start my life. 
As childhood ran on, so did the bush, keeping the yard beautifully colored and beautifully scented, fueling me and my younger brothers' earliest adventures. 
The constant smell of lavender that never seemed to fade during the endless summer that encased my childhood. 
Until one day, just that happened. 
Over the course of a few months, the bush had slowly begun to lose its color, the smell faded from yards to feet to the point where you could only smell it up close, still potent but never as potent as once, long ago. 
As the lavender stopped blessing our yard, things never truly recovered. 
A dull gray surrounded everything, destroying the facade of the paradise and endless summer I had perceived up until then. 
My brother and I quit getting along, our little games outside stopped, we went inside, and sadness filled our yard. 
My childhood had closed.
The day eventually came when my mum wanted the dead shrub out of the yard, and had me pull it up and drag it to a fire she lit.
Tossing it in, the scent suddenly powerful of burning lavender, a sense of wonder I hadn’t experienced in years sprang into my mind, giving me a final sendoff.