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

deeply.

I stop
 even if I'm rushing.

Rot
is too ugly a word.

Evolve.

Back to the Earth.