The smell of burning leaves filled him,
like aromatic coffee on a brisk morning;
like the dawning of another fresh new day
which comes on the flare of a flugle horn trill.
The exhilarating breath of Autumn
filters through the screen door
playing tag with his nostrils. No dodge
could free him from its caress.
Choosing the familiar scent of his armchair,
he drifts back to sleep in peace.
(C) Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016