Almost, But Not Yet: The Start Spring and a New Scent

There is a quiet kind of waiting that comes with this time of year. The last of winter’s bite has faded, but spring still feels hesitant, lingering just beyond reach. The days stretch a little longer, the air softens, and yet, the real shift has not quite arrived. It is a season of in-between, of knowing something new is coming but not yet seeing it in full bloom.

I find myself in that same kind of space, caught between what has been and what is just beginning to take shape. The days hum along with their usual rhythm—packing incense, replying to messages, thinking about the future, yet beneath it all, there is the quiet anticipation of something unfolding. A new scent, a new idea, a change waiting just beyond the horizon.

Coconut has been on my mind lately. Not the artificial, saccharine kind, but something richer, more nuanced. The scent of cracked shells, sun-warmed and fibrous. The delicate creaminess that lingers on fingertips after splitting open fresh flesh. clinging to the back of my mind ever since I left the sunbaked beaches of India behind. A warmth that soaks into the air like the last light of a late summer evening. I want to capture that feeling, distill it into something tangible.

Crafting incense is a slow alchemy. The materials are blended with care, each element chosen for its depth and harmony. The mixture is left to rest, to breathe, to find its balance before the first test burn. That first curl of smoke is a quiet revelation—sometimes an affirmation, sometimes a lesson. Does it capture what I envisioned? Does it settle into the air the way I imagined? Often, the answer is almost. The scent needs time to unfold, to deepen. It refuses to be hurried, much like the season itself.

Outside, the first buds have begun to show. Tiny green shoots pushing through the earth, impatient and sure. I envy them, in a way—the certainty of their arrival, their quiet insistence that change is already here. I light a test stick of coconut incense, watch the smoke drift against the pale morning light. It is close, but not quite there. A little more depth, perhaps, a touch more warmth. Like the season itself, it is almost, but not yet.

And so, I wait.