Wednesday, May 30, 2018
It was raining. I could smell it on the air that penetrated my dreams as it floated through my bedroom window this morning. I knew it even before I heard the misty raindrops’ gentle flutter on the leaves, the sound that I so often mistake for the chatter of birds—a huge flock—waking in the oak outside.
The scents always snag me when I walk out the door in the morning, scents so numerous, changing as I make my way down the path toward the stream, scents I can’t even begin to evoke on paper. They’re so much more than the words: floral, fecund, fresh…
Today the morning smells remind me of times when I have spent the night in a tent and woken up in the woods. They make me feel free somehow. They make me feel adventurous. They make me ridiculously happy. They make me think I must pull my tent from the attic and put it up in the back yard, just so I can wake up outdoors and smell the morning.
Because there’s something so indescribably magical that floats in this morning air. Something that pulls me. Something I long for. Something that never seems to be satisfied. Something that makes me feel blessed.
I don’t always heed this pull, though. In fact, in the last little while, I haven’t surrendered to any of the urgings of the ineffable. But here I am now, back on track—most days at least—walking in the woods in the morning, rain or shine. And, oh, it smells divine!