LEFT BEHIND: THE SMELL OF BURNING LEAVES
In the darkness of this autumn night,
as fallen leaves are whispering underfoot,
nostalgia puts a ticklish hand upon my throat,
calling forth a scent that smoulders only
in my memories of youth.
In this autumn of my life,
when eco-laws forbid that precious incense
of the waning of the year,
leafsmoke is foiled before it comes to be;
the golden, dusty piles of leaves are wrapped
in bags and carted off or put in compost piles,
and our world is said to be improved
by our well-intentioned eco-clarity.
The children of today have never known
that tangy autumn fragrance; and yet
on autumn nights I sometimes think
I catch the fine aroma of that smoky perfume
and sense its gentle mist upon the fields.
It might be contraband;
a little fire someone sneaked into the darkness.
Or it might be wishful thinking.
1993... by the Last ROSE of Summer (Rose About Town)
(Address your autumn memories and comments to firstname.lastname@example.org)