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Time scents



Running across the freshly mowed backyard

I am unconsciously aware of the smell

Of the cut green blades, as I race to the porch,

The rickety porch with its tin roof,

Above which is the window of my room.

Mom has a baked a pie, apple? Peach?

I've no time to notice as it sits cooling on the sill.

I swing the old screen door wide

And continue my race to the stairs,

To my room and the window above the tin roof.

"Don't run in the house!" she says

As she bastes the roast in the oven

With the juice that covers the carrots and the onions.

Cabbage is boiling on the stove.

What a wonderful aroma it would be

If I only took time to notice.

But no, my mission is too important.

I take the stairs in threes and nearly crash

Into dad on the landing.

He's smoking a pipe, a very rare sight,

And its odor is stranger indeed.

But onward I climb

Past aromas of time

To the window above the tin roof,

Out of which I launch my balsa wood plane

That is carried gently on the wind

That is softly carrying the scents of my youth

To a time forty years from that day.