The Heavenly Scent of Citrus

It's a perfect patio evening.  The sun is low, but still brilliant, just above the hills to the west.  The air is barely moving.  House finches chirp and flit about the adjoining yards.  The grill sizzles with steak, corn in the husk, and mushrooms, but I can't smell it.  All I smell is orange blossom. The orange tree, despite losing a third of its size to the wicked winter winds, is laden with pure white, star-like blossoms, and the cooler it gets, the headier the scent.  I could sit here and breathe forever.  I hope my last breath is as sweet as this next one is.