Mood: The sky grows still, agreen hue casting an eerie glow over the fields as the wind dies to a tense whisper. In the distance, a low, rumbling growl begins, and dark clouds twist downward, coiling tighter as if the sky itself is gathering strength for a furious descent.

Smells like: The scent of fresh cut grass fills the heavy air, mingling with earthy bits of green leaves and the grounding depths of patchouli, as the swirling wind picks up beneath the rising roar.