The muted light of damp October days, the pulpy swirl of leaves underfoot, and the bitter-sweet smell of it all. The smell. I used to briefly smell the weather, the day's mood, on the way to the bus-stop each morning. This is the smell of life, I used to think, and these few rushed minutes every day are not enough of it. So, every time things feel hard, I go outside and fill my lungs with this, remind myself that, however many demons have followed me here from the former life: yes - I can now do this.