A Birthday in October

October earth, still summer-warm,

but moist and muddy

from the recent rain,

and then:

 

a sweet and oily scent of lavender,

a prickly whiff of drying echinacea,

a soggy smell of decomposing reeds,

a deep-red fullness of rosehip clusters,

a resin aroma of jack pines and blue pines,

a papery whisper of oak leaves,

a green dance of gingko leaves,

a sweet perfume of wet chamomile,

a harsh coarseness of the black-willow bark,

a tang of pine needles scattered on the ground,

and someone almost taking off on a hang glider.

 

All the herbs, and spices, and fragrances

mingling and combining into a fresh bouquet

of your evasive but steady presence

fifteen years after you left.

 

And you are still all around.