Thursday, February 27, 2014

59. I Love ... the smell of poplar leaves rotting

It's starts just a touch before autumn.

They are the first leaf that comes down here.
They want to rush the summer 
out the door.

Before I am ready;
before I even have time to consider that 
autumn is approaching,
I catch a fleeting whiff.

An earthy musk with a touch of spice.

It hits me unsuspectingly.

It stops me in my tracks.
Stops me
 to breathe it in

I stop
 even if I'm rushing.

is too ugly a word.


Back to the Earth.

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