Today, the outside air smelt of summer.
It hit me with the same ferocity
As a strangers too strong perfume
But with the same familiarity
Of that of your mother's.
But how did a season have a smell
It was not the smell of
Freshly cut grass
Or flowers
Or even fruity drinks
The marketed, scents of the season
But instead raw, wonderful summer.
Were my senses altered?
Did I confuse the warmth of sun on my face
Or the blue of the sky
As a scent?
Then surely the harsh, chilling winds
Should have carried the scent
Of Autumn or Winter
And mangled into a sensory explosion.
No, the air smelt of summer
And huddled in my coat and scarf
Feet crunching on leftover snow
I longed for summer and her lazy warmth
So I breathed in deeply
And then hurried on in
As not to shatter my
Thoughts of summer
A perfectly good daydream.