I had an unusually intense need to get outside this morning.
At first, I thought it was just the beautiful weather that lured me away from my work with its sexy breeze and scantily clad sky, but within seconds of stepping out, I noticed something else.
All I cared about was getting the scent of plants.
It’s usually my eyes that run my outdoor experience — looking intently for the magic of an unexpected glamorous detail in the midst of seemingly mundane. But today, today it was all about scent.
I just wanted (needed!) to smell fresh greenery, the earth-cologne clinging to each leaf from the inside out, the very perfume of pure health, hope… love.
So I made a beeline to the first overgrown clump of weeds and trees I could find on a city side street, and stood in the middle of it all… taking in full-lunged (sp???) breaths of weedy fragrance. (Looking, I’m sure, like I wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed so to speak.)
Turns out some weeds smell like lavender. Others like garlic from the wrong side of the tracks. And still others like sunshine mixed with gently crushed grains.
They say we usually don’t breathe deeply enough, that we shortchange our cells with our normal tight-chested sips of air in too-full lives, too-stressed jobs, too-busy days.
And after this morning’s experience of drinking in plant-drenched air, I add that we also shortchange our hearts and souls.
There’s a reason they tell us to stop and smell the roses. Go discover it!