A scent leading to a memory.
Like an obedient dog, I follow.
To a fall, and a trailer, far out in the country.
The sweetness of the paperwhite narcissus subsides, and the acrid smell of burning leaves explains the smoky air.
In a claustrophobic room, a pile of kittens suckles their mother.
I pick the one with tiger stripes.
A mischievous little thing.
You never know what the kitten will become.
More importantly, you never know what’s on the mind of a cat.
The memory recedes.
I will revisit it another time.
