Snowfall

Under the snow 

the thyme still smells 

like summer

it’s funny how scent speaks

to our memories 

what package will we open 

twenty years hence

and be reminded 

of each other?

There are some memories

some dreams 

that are burned 

into my recollection

while most fade away 

to nothing

like flower petals

falling in the garden

returning to the earth.

I remember 

standing at the door

before my first violin lesson

when I was four and a half

I remember 

walking through the old factory

in the dark 

led by a wizard with a light

the sound of dripping 

evoking the Dwarrowdelf

and then the police chasing us

I remember

my dream of the lake 

with the dark woman approaching

when I woke myself by shouting

and watching windmills

go by the car windows 

after the rave 

in the south of France

and not knowing if they were real.