Fallen

For weeks 

I have been walking

among the quiet paths

where the leaves are falling

smelling the pine needles 

on the earth 

as they fade from copper

to dun and gold

and trying to compare 

the scent of them 

to cinnamon or autumn fires

or the soft aroma of 

night hooding the sky

but pine smells only of 

pine in the end 

a little sweet 

a taste of spice or incense 

faded like lavender in 

the old pillow 

lingering in the cool air

when the sun is shining.