Panes of Reminiscence

Gemma Taylor 1 December 2018
Image Credit: Gemma Taylor

How can an open window

bring about a nostalgia

so triumphantly painful?

 

How can summer’s slipping smells

transport me to a bygone time

of bare feet and grubby knees?

 

When, around the campfire,

our troubles disappear

like leaves we cast into flames

 

And the only discord

Is between our carefree songs

and the mournful refrain of the owl.

 

Perhaps he knew it would not be long

before the seasons turned

and winter-cold oppression caught us.

 

And the green smell of first dew

prickling on the grass in the fading light

would be nebulous; a memory, a feeling?

 

We ignored the damp, all those years ago –

tumbling around regardless

of later cautions at our grass stained clothes.

 

Now, I only wish we had cherished

each drop

as I mourn through this open window