I got out my jacket,
for the first time in months.
Cold, crisp Canadian air,
sharp and cleansing. Hands in my pockets,
shoulders hunched forward,
the smell of burning leaves,
brings a wave of nostalgia. Thoughts of football games,
and the comfort of the crowd,
cologne, cigar smoke, Wrigley's gum
and tailgate parties. A frosty morning
with patches of fog,
now deep blue sky,
with bright blinding sun. The sun is warm
'till the wind kicks up
leaves of crimson red
and golden yellow. Indian corn and dried cornstalks,
white Halloween cobwebs,
plastic orange Jack-O-Lanterns,
ancient rituals passed down. The old neighborhood
has seen better days.
Horse chestnut tree still bears
it's rich smooth mahogany fruit. The sunflower garden
on the corner is gone.
So are half the old neighbors,
But my mom is still here. Stepping into a warm steamy kitchen,
eyeglasses fog up over rosy cheeks.
Warm pumpkin pie with real whipped cream,
and a mug of fresh brewed coffee. Sitting in the recliner
sleep creeps warmly in,
as I slip from consciousness,
into a cozy catnap. .
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