Time Goes By in Instants

It's Some Golden Age I'm Still Afraid to Touch

The long winding street.

The slow descent of the clouds.

The soft sway of the trees.

The heat of the nights in the summer.

The scent of tea seeping in the mug.

The smile -- soft, inviting.

The screen door that leads into the yard that leads into the shed that leads into the path that leads back to the screen door that leads through the living room and back to the screen door.

Shuffled, mixed up, put back together.

Thrown into the air in an instant as a smell returns you to that time. That place. That warm lost instant.

Like a million others.