Aired-Out

Sept 27 2017

As if all the windows

were thrown open wide,

the roller-blinds snapped tight,

and the heavy doors swung freely

hinges creaking

in a stiff north-wind,

summer's muggy house

is aired-out over-night

in a cleansing fall.

There is a thinness

to dry October air.

And even the rain sits more lightly

on the trees and ground,

now that summer's green lushness

has shrivelled and browned.

Seasoned

with the sweetness of hay,

the earthy essence

of exhausted soil,

wood-smoke's acrid edge,

so even the scorned human nose,

has awakened to smell.

And a clarity of light

that makes the world feel eternal,

the way you remember home

from when you were young

and it was all so simple

as to seem preordained.

When you were impatient for time to pass

and never looked back

or gave much heed

to winter.

There was a last muggy blast of summer, then a cleansing NW wind – when I did open all the windows and doors – and now the acrid edge of wood-smoke is making my nose twitch and eyes itch. Fall is so distinctively in the air, you would know it with your eyes closed. Except then you'd miss the clarity of light that makes a clear autumn day so extraordinary.

This poem began with the smell of wood-smoke, and ended with thoughts of nostalgia. Because no season is better suited to that bitter-sweet emotion.

I think the seasons here can also be seen as metaphors for the ages of man. And that this poem is in the voice of an older person, on whom winter weighs more heavily – both figuratively and literally – than it ever did on the young.