Our local meteorologist is off being a storm chaser. He's found cluster cells in Oklahoma. He's excited...probably extra so because it seems his group came this|close to being hit by a tornado.
Further north here, we're simply dealing with a return to chilly with threats of frost overnight. People are muttering, but it's not unexpected for this time of year. It *is* a bit discombobulating, because we just went through one of our warmest Aprils on record, ever.
In the garden, this means pulling out the covers for everything you put in knowing it was early but thinking you'd give it a go anyway. A most foolish behavior when one is past the "fool me once, fool me twice" series of blame. And yet...like a siren, the soil called, and tomatoes begged "please," and would-be gardeners across the region said, aw, okay...
No correlation between this brand of gardener and Cubs fan has been investigated.
Anyway, the tomatoes have been in for a couple of weeks, and thanks to dutiful gauzing at night, they still look healthy. But I do feel like the little hairs on the leaves are on end, sometimes, wondering if one of these nights I'll be too tired, or gone, or the rain will have begun early and it seems inhospitable and pointless to go out and cover them now...
It was cold enough last night to make a fire in the pit a necessary accessory to a gathering of friends outdoors. And so we did.
In the past five days, I have seen sun kissed days that invite bare skin, played with new babies, watched seedlings emerge. I have tracked storm clouds as they squooshed to my piece of sky, felt temperatures drop twenty degrees, added layers for protection, and witnessed friends say goodbye to beloved family members or brace themselves for the inevitable.
The soil has started to yield, and the soil continues to receive.
Spring is in full swing. Still.
In my wearings and doings, this is the time of year that will take even old hands by surprise. Paper calendar and solar day and trends in temperature all begin to lull you into believing the turn is full. But the season still holds potential for sharp surprises. Do you choose to be prepared, or to just deal when/if one rears up?
Ah, be prepared. Sweaters are easy. On and off. I love sweaters. They provide such comfort if called upon, but also a sense of happy looking forward if it is time to discard them. You'll read about "sweater scents," perfumes that either provide that same sense of enveloping comfort that a cozy sweater does, or that seem to evoke the texture and complement the softest concept of cashmere.
Today is a chilly day. The heat is on. The sweater is out. I've looked beyond some of my sweater scents, though (they vary: Chene; Attrape Coueur; Jolie Madame) and gone right to luscious. Because I can, thanks to the weather. And because I want a hit of depths to contrast with the Bel Respiro I wore the other day. I want to mark the contours of this season.
Feminite du Bois, I think I love you.
I dared take it out today. I actually held my breath a little bit before I sprayed. It could be too much--a danger any time of year, but more so now. After all, I had just learned to find happiness in a lily of the valley soliflore, had inhaled the gateway drug to galbanum that is Bel Respiro for the first time this season, had started playing with "warmer weather" scents. Had kept in touch with the darker earthier side with Silences, yes, but also started eyeing citrus scents.
Yet here I am, all plummy.
On me, Feminite du Bois gets all warm and sweetened animalic. The plum note hits thick, but is carried by a honeyed vaguely woody 'did somebody lace this with castoreum?' viscous but not suffocating aura. And I mean aura...it both hovers close above and emanates from the skin to which it has been applied. It is almost Too Much...but never crosses that line. For me. It is decadent, in a way that isn't wanton, but that plays with the edges of excess and yet absolutely knows what it is about and appreciates every lush element. Nothing wasted, but man, that bag is packed full.
For a lot of this hemisphere (northern, I mean), the transition into spring is pretty much done. Here, Mother Nature is not done reminding us that it's not that she's fickle, it's that she has power. You can ride the waves, or you can get pummeled by them.
I've got shorts, shirts, jeans, sweat pants, sweat shirts, camisoles for layering beneath shirts beneath jackets. I've got Bel Respiro, Silences, Bois des Iles, Tabac Aurea, Fleur de Narcisse, Bois Blond, Gap Grass, Visa, Diorissimo, Vol de Nuit, Grin, Arpege, all ready for the vagaries of spring.
Somewhere, between my favorite cozy puffy Shetland sweater and my elegant fits just right cashmere sweater, somewhere beyond the fluctuations, an outlier, is this Feminite du Bois.
It's rainy, and cold, and I'm both eager to see the developments of this spring, and mourning a few losses.
Me and FdB are staying in today. We're fine. I'll be out again tomorrow.