Nostalgia

Nostalgia.

It smells like firewood

Like a fly I can’t catch,

I look around frantically for it.

Blackish gray smoke emerging from a brick chimney

It’s too far to see clearly but close enough to smell it.

It looks like December 6^th in Orange County:

Flawless, fluffy, cartoon-like clouds fill the skies

The orange sun frowning behind them.

And it smells like blood red posole

It feels like dead brown leaves

Crunching

Underneath my tattered shoes.

Making my toes scrunch up inside them

It sounds tranquil

Like when it’s too cold for the kids to play outside,

and the adults are already home from work so the traffic has died down.

It’s Like a Wednesday evening before “fall back” daylight savings.

***this is a poem I wrote in my creative writing class. My intentions are for imagery to come out the strongest aspect. It was fun to write and I hope you enjoy it. All feedback is welcome***