Petrichor

It has been a beautiful spring and early summer, as I enter my second year of living in Mississippi. The rhythm of nature is more apparent here. Every month ushers in new delights, be they the song of the cicadas, the taste of fresh lettuce that grew in the crisp early spring air, or the blooms dotting the trees with their delicate color. The trees are green again, but they are no more or less beautiful than they were stripped bare a few months ago. This place doesn't allow one to take anything for granted. In Florida, there was an eternal summer, that instead of being a tropical haven, it was for me a boring, static realm to exist in. Hedonic adaptation is real, guys! But... back to the trees. The beauty of them regardless of the season of this quote from The Wind in the Willows about the winter landscape:

"The country lay bare and entirely leafless around him, and he thought that he had never seen so far and so intimately into the insides of things as on that winter day when Nature was deep in her annual slumber and seemed to have kicked the clothes off. Copses, dells, quarries, and all hidden places, which had been mysterious mines for exploration in leafy summer, now exposed themselves and their secrets pathetically, and seemed to ask him to overlook their shabby poverty for a while till they could riot in rich masquerade as before."

Last night it rained a good bit. I changed my phone's focus to stop notifications, turned on the soft light of my favorite lamp, and read as I listened to the rain and thunder. I get a silly amount of joy in creating cozy moments. Like turning on more rain sounds indoors to layer the real noise of outdoor rain, and lighting incense to suit my mood. Tiny havens in this crazy world. Last night I lit an incense that was scented like petrichor. It felt apt and perfectly cozy, as I quietly ate Pocky and enjoyed my silly book. I think it was the first time in months that I felt utterly at ease with the world. With my busy brain, I am grateful I got that.

It's so dumb... but you see, I loved The Wind in the Willows a lot growing up. To the point that it was deeply formative to me. The way the animals were so cozy and their abodes so warm. The camaraderie in the quiet moments with friends, the way Mr. Graham rhapsodizes about yummy food (I mean his entire bit about TOAST???). It reflects on how I make my surroundings, my views on nature, and of course my opinionated views on toast (seriously the man might have loved toast more than his family, if his lyrical description of it is any indication). Maybe it was a good thing I read this book so often growing up. I wonder if it gave me a love of the world that I wouldn't have gained otherwise. Or if I was fated to love the mundane and this book reinforced my preexisting views on the beauty of nature, the seasons, and warm hearths.