The scent of nostalgia

A gust sweeps in, catching me off guard,

a fragrance uncoiling, soft, and unmarred.

The dryer vent calls with whispers of spring,

sweet cotton and sunshine, a past I still cling.

From my balcony high, I breathe in the air,

dry leaves skitter by, as if to declare

that childhood is woven in threads of delight,

when laughter was endless,

and the day never night.