When humid air creeps in and brings to life
the scent of 100-year-old wood -
the pines, the cherries, the oaks -
with 100-year-old dust to create a scent familiar
to those who grew up in old farmhouses,
those humid homes with sticky floors and sticky doors
and sweating pipes and stifling attics.
The morning air is sweet, and windows open
bring the smell of cooking sausage and brewing coffee
mixed with blooming honeysuckle, manure,
and beautiful sunshine on dew-laden grass.
The sound of birds outside, so happy in warmth
and the sound of a fan in every room
to stir sticky stifling around and make it livable.
It makes me so happy, so youthful
and I want to run through grass like I did as a child
dandelion fluff sticking between my toes
sweet clover rustling as I go.
To drip with water from the swimming pool,
feeling sensations of hot and cool
from catching tadpoles in the creek
to sunning on the rock-baked patio
and then back in my room, my very own little girly room
to lie in front of the fan and whisper secrets to my very own best friend.
To ride bikes as if they are horses
through the fields and around the empty lot
box lids clothespinned between the spokes
to make the galloping sound quite necessary when you are only 10.
To know the realization of very short life
through the unfortunate accident of a mother rabbit
(whose funeral in the front yard was a teary one to say the least)
and to know the fulfillment of nurturing life
by bringing back to health baby rabbits left behind
and name them after the very best rabbits we know -
Flopsy, Mopsy, Cottontail, Benjamin and Peter.
To eat popsicles three at a time
and spend hours in the forgotten library with books
that haven’t been cracked open in more than a decade.
And all this comes flooding to mind as quick as the snap of two fingers
when humid air creeps in and brings to life
the scent of 100-year-old wood.
