Pictures of time

Sweet joy, where did I see you first?

Was it the flutter of a butterfly's wings, so fragile and soft;

Or perhaps the love in the eyes of a mother?

The wind blows, tousling my hair about, traveling to another corner of the world.

I feel Autumn like the color of the changing leaves and that far too familiar nostalgia of the days of past.

My mind dances with the smell of cinnamon, the singing of someone life no longer knows,

Such fleeting days stay only in my mind, forever able to be visited like a prize photo of time's marks on my soul.

We drift farther just as the leaves on the wind; red, orange and yellow memories.