7 hours ago
2
.jpeg)
I envy my dog. On our woodland walk each morning her nose is low to the ground, all the better for drawing in scents. As the leaves change colour it’s a picturesque landscape, but there’s a better way to get to know this place than simply looking.
I follow the lead of my furry friend and sniff the air.
It’s akin to meditation. I empty my mind and concentrate on every noseful as I walk, breathing deeply, purposefully. Now I recognise the individual scent of each path, copse and clearing.
Smell is the most overlooked of our five senses but it can help ground and steady us. Natural aromas are best, whether fresh – or bottled.
Seasonal rhythms
The changing seasons of the forest mirror the long life of a bottle of wine. In spring, the first aromas to awaken are grass, green leaves and wild garlic. Like a newly bottled Sauvignon Blanc, it’s a time for purity and freshness.
The first fruits of summer bring to mind a two-year-old Cabernet Franc. In June, wild strawberries peek from under their leaves. Then the luminous redcurrants, like strings of spherical beads, popping with tart acidity and green tannins. Shortly after come fragrant raspberries.
Like an eight-year-old Mourvèdre, a horde of blackberries marks the end of summer, deep, dark and soft, staining your fingers like a wine glass at a tasting.
As the fruits begin to fade, the scents of autumn arrive, bringing to mind a glorious decades-old Grenache. The ground is wet again with scents of earth and leaf mulch; conker shells sweet with benevolent decay.
Acorns crack underfoot and polished brown chestnuts sit within green thickets of spines. The mushrooms release their spores.
As the cold of winter comes, the smells of the forest die back. Like an introverted Pinot Noir that refuses to play ball, there’s nothing in the stark air but a memory of wood smoke.
Until the sun warms the dormant ground and spring comes round again.
Daily rhythms
At the end of each day I choose a bottle of wine to open. After a day at a desk spent mostly online it’s time to touch grass. Or smell it, at least.
Sitting at the wooden dinner table, swirling my glass brings me back to earth, back to the here and now. I pause and spend time with the bottle and it gives up its secrets.
It takes more than just a glance; smell is the slowest sense. You need to be patient to release the aromas and welcome them in, to tease them apart in order to read the wine, to discover exactly what it has to say.
After a day’s work we can appreciate the fruits of our labour.
Whether you’re walking in a forest, or sitting with a bottle of wine, the necessarily gentle act of smelling, of breathing deeply, not only brings pleasure but it can help centre us, bringing us back to the moment – whether in company, or alone.
My dog seems to take all this for granted. Sometimes it’s us humans that need to remember to smell the roses.
.jpeg)
English (US) ·