The smell of rain on Autumn leaves
Is quite unlike a summer storm
The colours fall and darken brown
And matt together into soil
Crisp and then they flake away
Or moisten into pulp.
The smell carves pumpkins
And spices pies
It chases steam from cocoa mugs
And tells of birthdays that last for weeks
It wraps the dream of the Nutcracker
The work, the dance, of the Nutcracker
The repeated tradition well-loved.
It is the aroma, the essence released
Of beautiful change
Trusted and remembered
Life giving while leading to dormancy
Refreshing in its cool warmth,
It becomes a Moment, just to breathe.
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