There are no words to describe the smell of Spring.

That primal aliveness.

How when you breathe it in deeply into your lungs there is a memory there you can’t quite access.  But it’s a good one.  And you can sit and breathe and be, and not-quite-remember.

There are no words to describe the smell of Spring, yet we try.

Why?

Because every year, after a punishing winter (for some of us) the unbelievable happens.  We see these little green bursts of life where before were mud and sticks.  And almost right before our eyes they transform themselves into color.  Bigger and bolder then we even remember.

And it is that perseverance that is a metaphor for our own lives.  For our own cycles.

Change is inevitable.

Truly.  Inevitable.

And I think so many of us have been disappointed by change that we have a negative connotation of what that looks like.  To really change.

And as I stood in the woods this morning, smelling that smell I couldn’t define and remembering yet not remembering the thing about it I couldn’t put my finger on, I realized it was hope.

Because we never really stop hoping, do we?

And just like the daffodil shoots below the ground, wintering…they look like bulbs.  They look like they are doing nothing, but they are waiting for the time when they are called yet again into existence.

And while that’s not a definition of hope, that is what hope is.

That the sun, and wind, and the rain will bring the things we desire.

That change will be good this time.

And for that to happen we need to stand outside in the woods, and connect to that energy of change, smell it….and let your brain remember the thing it can’t quite remember.

It may be that everything will be alright.  Maybe that you are on the right path.  Maybe that you need to pick another one.

But standing outside under the canopy of trees this morning I was struck by knowing.  That’s it.  Just knowing.  Knowing I didn’t’ want to be anywhere else in the world but right where my feet were planted.  Birds chirping.  Mist washing my face.

And from that place, anything is possible.

That woody smell had hints of Frankincense and Tulsi and Cedar.  Arguably in my top ten favorite Essential Oils…the gift of the plants.  Scents to elicit purpose and grounding, of strength, and openness.

And so I leave you this morning with a challenge to get up earlier than you usually do, and put on warm clothes (if you are in a cold climate) and find a patch of trees hopefully away from street noise…and stand, and breathe.

And see if hope doesn’t come for you.

See if you are not rooted and yet changed.

See if you can just, breathe.