It’s been raining for so long now - the fields are like lakes and the roads are broken up and potholed. It feels like it’s never going to let up. But sometimes it does… sometimes there’s a small window of sunshine, or a soft glow as the sun starts to set.
Walking Murphy in the woods a few days ago, I caught a glimpse of that light. So I found a log to sit on and just stayed there for a while. Watched. Listened. Breathed it in. Delicious.
There’s something about the woods after rain. The air smells richer, deeper... that earthy, green scent. Trees release natural compounds; phytoncides, part of their own defence system, and when we breathe them in they can help lower stress levels and gently support the immune system. So that simple act of breathing it all in isn’t just poetic - it’s actually doing something.
And then there are the patterns - the branches splitting and re-splitting, the lacework of twigs against the sky, the ripples in puddles. They’re fractals, shapes that repeat themselves in smaller and smaller ways. The brain finds those patterns easy to process, almost soothing. No sharp edges, no harsh lines. Just soft fascination.
No big effort. No grand plan. Just sitting on a log while Murphy mooched about. The dripping trees, the filtered light, the quiet. Obviously the fields are still flooded, and the roads are still utterly crap, but it reminded me that sometimes all you need is a small break in the clouds - and the sense to stop long enough to notice it.