"There was an aunt of mine who would immediately bury in earth every lemon-pip she found. What she wanted to see were two shiny leaves springing out opposite each other. Perhaps she yearned for the south. All her life she had nursed a hopeless love for an officer whose hair smelt of lemon blossom.
The day she died her room was full of miracles. In every flowerpot beamed tiny lemon shoots which could never grow tall but which sang a chorus of hope. And there was an envelope under her pillow. Inside was a short love-letter, left unposted."
Melisa Gürpinar, 'Salkımsöğütlerin Gölgesinde'.