One of my favorite parts of any season is its smell. People give me a crazy look when I say this, but it's true all the same.
Autumn is the obvious one, of course, smelling of sunshine and dry corn, field dust and apple pies.
Spring is a quieter smell, one that takes attention to notice. It is the smell of wet earth, coming rain, and living things. Every year, I eagerly await the day when I can first "smell spring."
I recently read a book written by a lady who lost her sense of smell. She talked about the blandness of food and the frustration of not being able to smell fresh loaves of bread. She didn't know when something was burning on the stove, and couldn't smell her children's sweaty heads after their romp outdoors.
There was so much she missed with this seemingly insignificant sense.
This story reminded me of how we treat the publicly "invisible" people in our lives, the ones who can't keep up a rich conversation, the ones that forget who you are minutes after you've reintroduced yourself, the ones who have lost the ability to perform their basic cares.
It's not popular to treat these people with respect. Our world is self-centered and unfeeling.
But, like our sense of smell, these people add so much dimension and richness to our lives. They have wisdom even when sometimes they don't have knowledge. They offer us their humor, their stories, their joy. It's true that they need help, but that is a small price to pay for the contribution they make to our world.
We are the blessed ones.