On St. Patrick’s Day, Lianne, Jayla and I went for a walk at our favourite conservation area. Suprisingly, there was still some snow on the ground there. I didn’t expect it because here at home it has all but disappeared – just tiny bits remain. The trail there is a perfect length for a lazy teenager, a seven year old and an out-of-shape mother. We packed up a snack, including some homemade limeade we made the night before; our one St. Patrick’s Day tradition.
We reached our destination – a clearing near a small brook in the center of the woods. The snow had cleared a space for us and after a few moments of sitting there on a fallen tree I began to smell it. That familiar scent. The smell of the forest. So many memories came flooding back to me. Walks in the woods when my children were really little. Times when I walked alone there. Family camping trips where I convinced everyone to go for a hike together. Always pausing for just a moment, just before entering into this sacred space so that I could breathe it in, filling my lungs with its’ power and magic.
“Smell is a potent wizard that transports you across thousand of miles and all the years you have lived.”
– Helen Keller