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Oct 3
3 October 2021

Time Fall. Hold, recover old memories, primal loves.
Pine needles, maple syrup, red wines, velvet leather gloves.
Noon canoe paddled, sudden ****** splash, spilling your smudged glass.
Damp firewood logs leaning a rusted axe, mushroom patios, dandelion blossom, holding back the last day's tasks.
Twigs and leaves curling smoke, blurring tired eyes, staining last year's denim worn clothes.
Saline thoughts wet, layering corners of times, people past.

A broken cottage window screen will wait another year,
Glass green shatter, under that old deck, held fine malt beer.
Righteous melancholy lays bare, naked, true north centered.
Cold wind bides future flakes, mixed sun, frost, winter's bite.

Gentle hands we held, love sweatered, lain in heaped marker,
Walking that country road, looking for family stone date etched, shiver alone.
Reminded in sepia photo, leather album of hot home-made Friday's bread, **** lemon butter.
Sudden scents we once marked, raise again ancestral homes.

Biding grey-rose tinted sky, last hour of today, we head to our stoop.
Warm cider sits on edge, steam rising into this fading night.
Pause, feet, ankles, in the lake, ice needles loop our toes.
Then, a stalwart bluebird alights the cedar stump cornering the forest edge.
Nostalgia sits beside him, feels right. Morrow's fledge.
Written by
BTW
38
     Fawn and Pradip Chattopadhyay
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