Smelling the Roses


On these soggy, autumn afternoons she drifts to the back stoop, you on her heels. You almost trip her as you rush the door. What are we doing you ask? What exciting thing is ahead?

She basks in autumn's dance between slate and rust, gray and gold, not moving from the steps. Sun breaks through like a spotlight, illuminating forgotten corners of the yard. You wander off to investigate, discovering mushy piles of fallen leaves and other smelly things. You savor their wet, earthiness. Nothing could be better. Your girl is nearby.

You check on her often, sometimes with a glance. Sometimes running back. She fusses with an object on the steps. You race to her. A container, holding pastel petals. You sniff. Are they good to eat?

They might be. These soggy, autumn afternoons with her are drenched in possibility. Life smells of food and fun. You bury your nose in velvet. Heaven!