A Scent of Autumn

Besides the pumpkin spice that pervades this change

of seasons, the leaves are starting to turn;

the greens of summer dull to yellow and brown

and fall, ones and twos letting go from the trees

to announce themselves where they lie stark

against the grass wet now by the morning’s dew,

a cooler night manifesting itself. And rising late

with the sun, reluctant to leave the warmth of my bed,

I pile yesterday’s news and kindling, logs that burn easily, 

into the stove, and set them ablaze, breathing deep

the acrid smell of smoke carried aloft,

up the chimney and away, a gray cloud billowing.

This is an autumn scent here in the woods where I live

and the bitter essence of the season changing,

summer into fall, and with it, ourselves, turning inward,

remembering our own seasons, where we are, and why.