The Sweetest Smells

The Sweetest Smells
 
Grandmother’s barn,
saddle oil and leather
the earthy steam of her plowhorse,
twice as tall as me.
 
Sawdust when my father was crafting my toys --
a stick horse, a pogo stick, a go-cart from a crate,
my first guitar, crafted from a cigar box.
Sheets dried in mountain sunshine.
 
Summer grass newly mown,
leaves freshly raked for our compost pile.
Woodsmoke from the campfire
on Snowy Range fishing trips.
 
My fathers’s Ivory Soap sweat,
on a Colorado Saturday,
tying a Grey Wolf fly on my line
beside a foaming canyon stream.
 
This world is all in shadows now,
but I know you’re here beside my chair,
prodding me to stroke your head,
your comfort is the sweetest smell of all.