A Scarf, Traces of Winter
From the scarf I pulled out of the back of a drawer, the smell of last winter rose up. It's a smell that would fade if I dried it in the sun, and yet I keep bringing it to my nose. Before this scent dries away, I want to hold on to the season just a little longer.
Sorting a drawer, I found a dried ginkgo leaf from last autumn in the pocket of a spring coat. I touched it, near to crumbling, and that day's wind remained on my fingertips.
As that dried ginkgo leaf crumbles at your fingertips, the scent of my scarf will fade away like that someday too. Before then, let's leave them both out to dry a while.
I watched the winter quilt hung out at the neighbor's window flapping in the wind. A cat, up from its nap, slipped quietly into its shade.
Watching the cat slip into the quilt's shade, I feel the scent of the scarf will linger even longer. Before it dries in the sun, I'd like to stay in the shade a while, like that cat.
Sorting my winter clothes, I pulled a pair of wool gloves from the back of the closet, and the smell of last year's snow was still inside them. I hung the gloves by the window. Soon that scent, too, will dry away.
I too hung my scarf by the window today, and the way it swayed in the wind looked like last winter waving. Before that season grows more distant through the drying scent, I hope it brushes past just once more.
Brushing dust from the end of my scarf, I noticed the lint left on my fingers. Winter remains this small.
I left that lint where it was, without picking it off. Each time I fold the scarf away, that small piece of winter will be waiting in the drawer.