the blessing of autumn after the torrid summer. the fresh drops of the still shy rain on the still bare skin. the scent of the earth, of the grass, of the streets after first rain. later, much later, almost an eternity gone by, or so it always seemed to the child, mom and dad and I shopping for Christmas presents, mom dragging me behind her in her hurried, fluttering step, dad purposefully lagging behind in his usual laid back, couldn’t care less way.
suddenly, a wink of his blue eyes and a smile, and the little cone of hot newspaper would materialise in my hands.
it’s all buried somewhere. not even the child has remained. only the chestnuts remain, but they no longer taste the same. they no longer smell of love, and of the smile of the simplest things.
12 October 2013
© Nina Light CC-BY-NC-ND