The smell of burning leaves
reminds me there is no more
hide and seek with summer.
Born to be a beach bum, for me
it’s more like a whiff of stale coffee
than the aroma of freshly baked bread.
Let autumn strum its balalaika
as reds and golds dance past the greens.
I’d rather fall in Malibu.
© Susan Schoeffield
Written for the 9/28/14 prompt at Creative Bloomings “Sunday Seed” to write a poem beginning with “the smell of burning leaves” and incorporating a word for each category: something you buy in a bakery, a smell in a diner, a make of automobile, something people do to relieve stress, an unusual musical instrument, and a child’s game.