Memories of Fall

A sight, a sound, smell, singular
or combined - these things unleash
torrents of recollection in the heart
and mind from another place, another
lifetime - another being.

Memories of a place
existing in the memory - perhaps
only in memory - but memory
nonetheless; the memory of New
England kitchens baking pies,
breads, doughnuts frying and coffees;
memories of home.

You know they have no true
fall here? Certainly no color -
wrong weather for that - that
and so many of these trees
are conifer, not deciduous.

He supposes that somewhere
out there, one will find a conifer
that colors like the old maple
but he knows not
that tree my Friend.

He misses the sight
of hills afire with fading
emeralds, blazing with ruby, citrine,
wrapped in the liquid gold of morning
sun - speckled with dew's diamonds
frozen to burnt gem until sun
tinges leaf-tip and diamond melts
dripping to the floor below.

These are his memories, these
are his home that is no more. These
are the memories evoked
by Your photographs, these
are his
Memories of Fall.

_{(To A Friend :: Oct. 25, 2010, 00:16)}