Warm, moist air, the smell of green. I feel it on my skin as much as breathe it in. Is this the smell that the sheep and donkeys will break through a fence to get at? I can’t blame them. It must be like smelling bread baking in the oven.
And I don’t even want to eat it, I just want to be in it.
It makes sense to me that as the tender leaves on the tip of every branch of the old maple spring open to finally embrace the sunlight they’d exhale a smell.
I had to wonder if the birds smelled the growing too. They all seemed to be out this morning.
Groups of two or more Canada Geese flew low enough for me to hear the squeak of their wings, as I spread hay in the feeders.
The barn swallows raced out of the barn swooping and twirling like acrobats in a circus. The yellow belly of a goldfinch sparked against the gray sky. And every bird I couldn’t see I could hear in their continuous song over the mash.
This is the smell that made me want to break out of the classroom and later whatever job I was working at and run for my life. But today, I just open my studio door and let it in. It fills the space, and me, as I work.