Season of Genêt Fleur blooms

I'm exhausted, but I have to keep going. Our return to New York is imminent and once I am there I won't have the time to write uninterrupted or be surrounded by nature. The blossoming yellow flowers whose essence, Genêt Fleuri, was Katherine’s favorite perfume, fill my writing room, a fragrance that the aristocratic Virginia Woolf found too earthy. 

And, like Virginia, I also had Katherine’s formidable presence to deal with. She would not leave me alone – no, really. She insisted that I finish "In Pursuit . . ." so that she could slip into their pages or better still rise from them.