Scent

newmoon

The lingering embers of sweet grass on cold October nights

Dew on the morning honeysuckle that warmly wrapped us in July

Star-dust trailing across a seemingly never-ending August sky

September rains, the forest and full moon tide

Tiny breathes in December as snowfall blankets outside

Opening blooms and light announcing May has arrived

Sipping a warm latte while bundled on the beach, moments in April’s time

Laughter and glances, Shiraz, the scent of March for you and I

You asked what your scent was

It is the softness and perfection of taste, memory and time

~Alisa Hutton

Continuum

trust

Longing for placid waters that lap the sound of what my heart has spoken

Sitting on my beach I trust in my warmth

Just as where the river meets the ocean

Strong currents and individual temperatures must navigate alone as they try to merge whole

All part of nature, no persons place to judge or control

Where is the line between who we were and who we are?

Is it ever a line or rather a continuum, an evolution of sorts?

A weaving of a contextual story that perhaps only I should know?

Observers with opinion can consume needed breath, interfering with flow

Yesterday I retreated to an old shore

Only to be reminded

I don’t live there anymore

~Alisa Hutton