Wind

The wind is blowing.
The chimes,
set carefully where they will be loved by the wind,
are singing their personal, individual songs.
A branch has fallen from one of the old oaks in the yard.
The smell of fallen leaves permeates the heavy air.
There is nothing like the smell of fall but this smell.
As I walk around the corner,
toward the one tree in the neighborhood,
that dresses in her finest autumn colors before any other tree,
I breathe in completely and soak up the scent.
It is strongest here.
I feel light, and thankful.
My memories of holidays, youth, and happiness encompass me
as the flurry of falling burgundy, gold and amber
overwhelm my senses.
Thick fuzzy cardigans,
warm knitted wool socks,
electric blankets turned to the highest setting,
until I can no longer stand the heat,
warm spiced apple cider or chai,
brisk walks with the puppy in his overly warm for a dog sweater.
All these thoughts have taken over my senses because of the sound
of a robust wind shaking the evening calm and crickets.