Friday, November 19, 2010

One Smell

The scent of memory:
Wafting throught the air was the sweet smell of balsa pine
That clean scent pricked my memory like a needle full of the past; the fountain of my youth.
Suddenly, I was in Lenox, eight years old, sitting on a bed of soft, brown, in the tall and twisted stand of pines during a calm, drizzling spring rain. The openings in the heavy canopy revealing puffs of blue; places where the sky was clearing. Youth is a champion runner; its time is less than a season should be; but a transporting scent can become a fountain of youth that will stay as long as the thoughts visit.

1 comment:

  1. I'm right there with you -- only I'm in northeastern Ohio.

    ReplyDelete

Meditation Door-hanger

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"Time flys, catches fire, and sinks." p. malafronte (2010)

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