Woodsmoke and Some Thoughts

I smelled woodsmoke while out for a walk this morning morning. I couldn't help but smile to myself and think, 'It's going to be a good day.'

I love the smell of wood, don’t you? Whether its tall and proud in a forest somewhere. Or chopped and humble in a fireplace. There’s something so comforting and grounding in those smells. Your nose tingles, your eyes light up a bit, and you feel joy’s signature warmth spread through your chest as you look for the source of the smell. And it truly is joy. A simple joy. One of my favorite kinds. And yet I’m struck by the realization that most of those joys are for things I haven't myself experienced. 

When I think of a fire burning in the winter stove, I think of family, of love, of warmth and contentment, and the inability to peel one's eyes from the magic of the flames. I want my life to be like that fire: I want it to be a picture of family and love, of warmth and peace; I want to draw people in and help them to contemplate the deeper meanings of life; I want my heart to have an aroma that makes people's noses twitch, makes their lips curl into a smile, and leaves them saying, 'Today's going to be a good day.'

Perhaps part of the joy I feel is in the reminder that I have the power to choose my future, to bring those future joys about. Or perhaps woodsmoke is just a pleasant smell. Either way, what a joy. 

Clarity

There's much to be said for clarity. It's liberating. It gives direction to our meaning and our purpose for being. And yet, depending on the juncture of your life, it can feel like cold steel on your wrists and a pane of bulletproof glass.

Someone recently told me that we always have the power to choose, if not our circumstance then our attitude. This gentle reminder has given me a great deal of clarity. And yet, in many ways it feels as though there is an impenetrable obstacle standing between me and my future. Perhaps it's bulletproof and perhaps it isn't. I won't know until I test it.  

Over the weeks since receiving that wonderful gift of hope, I've been focusing on changing me and my attitude. A still-small voice in my chest tells me that's the best place to start.

Isn't it appropriate that some of life's greatest seasons of change take place in Autumn?

“All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another.” - Anatole France

I've recently discovered a wonderful band by the name of The Paper Kites. Bloom was the first song of theirs I fell in love with. Featherstone quickly followed. Today, it was St. Clarity that struck me.