Cut Grass and Cool Mornings

A chill wind betrays this time each year,

conjuring up smells, throwing me backwards to youth

when all that mattered to a boy was now and the next day.

Flooded with fumes of fall and football and friendship

was a clear expectation of something about to happen,

hopefully a girl's glance or smile or her hand in mine.

The past and future was held firmly at bay,

the present lengthened and amplified to infinity,

heightening the urgency of each memory and moment.

Now, cut grass and cool mornings intertwine

creating a longing I chase that is nearly tangible,

to be that boy again who was more ignorant than knowing.

But fixed here instead, I look forward with anticipation

to each new autumn's annual power to send me back

on an elusive breeze that carries yesterday with it.