Hoping For the Smell of Smores
Whirling leaves of gold and rust travel past me in an ethereal way
Enjoying the float of a gentle glide of morning autumn air.
Squirrel tails chase each other around an oak tree
Ends of toothy fat mouths that are excitedly chattering.
My soft sweater protects me from the brisk air of October.
A carload of young lads slows down to watch a pretty co-ed.
An unaware beauty clothed in a plaid skirt with a matching tam.
Homecoming is around the corner; I imagine her at a bonfire.
Flames kicking and popping, enticing romantic confessions.
Her embers turning gray and black in eager anticipation
The strength of this season oozing out of every corner
Shadows snickering, hoping for the smell of s’mores.
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