Series of Scents, Part I

This time of year I begin to look forward to those days of late winter/early spring. The days which are short and cool, yet sunny with a brightness found only from the sun's reflection on the packed snow. Those beautiful days in which if one were to wander about, you could see the snow slowly melting away, causing little sandy rivers on the roadsides. Icicles drip large, crystal orbs of frigid water, bursting upon impact with the ground or- better yet- carving little round holes deep into the inches of snow beneath. There is a sense of rebirth in the air; a sense of awakening and timelessness. Something about those days seems busy, yet in an organic and natural sort of way. The way a hummingbird is always flitting about, heart pumping away at hundreds of beats per minute, yet something about the small creature appears leisurely. That little green bird with the red patch on his throat; he has a secret, and if you stare closely, you can nearly make out a little gleam in his tiny black eyes. He knows that all he has to do is simple BE. That is his job, and one he takes on gladly.

The best part of these days is not the veil of water droplets fountaining off of rooftops. It is not the muddy pawprints left by excited young dogs in the dissipating snow. It is not the warm, radiating sunlight which bursts forth between the window blinds illuminating the ceiling with ribbons of light. The best part of these days is the unmistakable scent of the season.

The scent lingering in the air in that period between winter and spring begins with a certain crispness, like that found in a fresh, tart green apple. It is a cool scent, a scent reminiscent of that lighter blue found in the sky on days where the clouds are high and wispy. A scent that flirts with the light sprout green of those first shoots of grass. You breathe in and immediately it rushes up through your nostrils, seemingly straight into your brain. Cool, clear, as the water you see cascading from cracks in the tall cliff sides in the countryside. Once the sensation has coursed into your head and begins to move through your body, another partner comes into play. It grabs you, pulls you back front and center, and fills you up much like a gardener fills a planter with fresh soil.

This second half of the scent is earthy, herbal, and mossy. Though you may not see the ground beneath the snow, it makes itself known in all of its full-bodied and filling glory. Here I would use the word "dirty", though not in the typical sense. There is nothing unclean about this. It is simple that pertaining to dirt. It is gritty, grainy, heavy, rough. It is the consistency of a farmer's hands after working a hard day. Calloused and rough, but warm and vital. It is comforting, the way a mother's breast is a comfort to a young child. This scent- this is that of mother nature herself.

There is something about the combination of these two; of the cool, refreshing, ice-melting clear scent and the warm, earthy, basic soil of the earth, which is irresistible. Something about this says "you, child, wake". And so I do. My eyes shut for but a moment before opening with new clarity as I allow the scent of spring to course through me. Into my nose, up into my head, flowing through my arms and down my legs with a slight chill.

As I do this, memories flood back. Memories of nature- of forests having stood for centuries, now adorned with moss and lichens. Memories of self- of love begun, explored, and lost. And even, for brief moments, snippits of what could be- of new love, of new life, of new experiences. In this moment I was, I am, and I continue to be. And in this moment, I fulfill my purpose.