What The Clouds Told Me

The grey clouds told me

to reach high, touch them.

They felt like the cold mist

from a perfume bottle,

tasted the metallic taste

of pollution.

Then they fell, heavier than

they looked, hitting the

trees of jewelled colors,

losing their flavor,

absorbing the nutmeg

of the golds, the cinnamon

of the burnt reds.

They twisted, blended

together to make the scent

of fuzzy sweaters and

flannel PJs, of a favorite

movie and a warm quilt.

Finally swirling scent and

flavor upward to form the

song of an autumn sky.