I’d promised myself an autumnal walk in North Cliffe Wood, but it was what I call a ‘weather cancelled’ day. I like my weather to have some personality: warm sunshine, blue skies and fluffball clouds all lovely of course, but I’m happy too with playful breezes, wild winds, and even heavy-duty rain, if I’m suitably dressed. But today, nothing. Everywhere - at least from the window of my flat - is a still, silent, army-blanket grey.
Feeling somewhat grumpy, I decide to go anyway, as this blog is promised. I note the irony of writing about the joys of sensory connection with nature when, I mutter to myself, there’s nothing happening to be joyous about… maybe I’ll stay in and do the hoovering instead.
But the moment I step off the roadside and into the first ‘long straight’ of the pathway through the wood, everything changes. Actually, nothing has changed in terms of the cancelled weather, but with my first deep breath in I am assailed by that wonderful autumn woodland aroma. Much is made of ‘petrichor’: the smell of rain after a dry period, but the key component of that - the bacterium geosmin - is detectable any time, and especially so when there is decaying vegetation. Some people aren’t keen on that particular earthy, musty smell, but others - including me - love it. Smell and taste are intimately connected of course, and when I find a smell I like, I often feel as if I want to drink it in. Smasting, I call it.
