The sounds and smells
Reminded me of my childhood;
Days amongst my
The laughter over the cooking
As I struggled to learn
Rich spiced permeated the air
Even as we stepped
Off the bus.
Scents of welcome
Wafting by on the breeze
As the silk ribbon
Dances in my hair.
Whispers in the Twilight
The purple hues blur the world
As the sun sets in the west.
A lazy sense of finality settles
Like a mantle of time upon my shoulders.
Turning the corner visions assault me.
A bird chirps from a nearby tree.
I look around expecting you to be
Near enough– I could reach out and touch you if I tried.
Shaking ghosts from my mind I walk on down
The stairs to my comfortable home
Knowing I’ll be greeted by the wagging tail
Of my only child.
The comfort of having something there
Is never lost on me, though,
So I smile, pet the wriggling pup
Hang up my coat, and greet the cat.
There you are again.
The comforting scent of familiarity
Wrapping me in the memories of
Love and friendship.
I must be loosing my mind.
Muttering to my pets, I drop my keys and open my
One piece of mail, only to toss it aside in disgust
Turning my back on the offending junk as it
Floats down onto the growing pile by the trashcan.
Unconsciously, I glide over to the stereo and soon
Music fills the room.
Looking down suddenly as yet another memory
Flashes though my mind and I chuckle at my find.
A bottle overturned— The pungent scent that had been
Taunting me since my return home–
Slowly dripping down the dark wood
And onto the carpet.
Avoiding the memories both
Joyful and poignant: the loss of you still fresh,
I quickly clean up the mess
And push aside the slight twinge of disappointment.
I knew you weren’t really here
And the ghosts were merely figments,
Yet, the possibility lifted
The stress and exhaustion for just a while.
Memories are a comfort.
And while I turn back and
Wander into my bedroom,
I failed to see a small
Gift left for me…
The white rose stands in the corner
Quiet and regal, wild in it’s mystery,
Bowed slightly in acknowledgment
That anything… can happen…
Scent is a funny thing to me.
It rules my memories
With an iron fist of
The incense burning on my alter
Comforts and protects,
Reminding me of days spent
In the shelter of friendship.
Ancient flavors and smells,
Their temptation soothes and
Wraps around me
Like arms around a well loved Child.
Hookah’s and twirling scarves
Delicate fabric falling from the hands of
Exotic dancers; imagery from a world
Extinct save for in our imaginations.
Scent is a funny thing to me…
It makes memories so much more
Potent and poignant with
The constant reminders.
Both past and present,
As they weave an intricate
Yet invisible blanket around me
Relax me and tuck me in.