Laundry detergent invades the air,
stifling the petrichor concoction
that collides with the swept leaves
discarded to the cobwebbed corner
where the puddles declare soles out of bounds.
Freshly baked biscuits stake their claim,
packaged neatly with plastic and ribbon
but they too crumble to the scent
of disintegrating damp wood
burning black and iridescent red.
Smoke rises into the crepuscular sky
and is ushered away by the wind,
the fire crackles on as biscuits are opened
and freshly made beds are disturbed
as childish feet disturb leaf piles under amber glow.
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