The metal door swings open;
a chorus of clangs
singing the small and subtle song
of my pale blue scarf.
I carefully take it from the company
of worn socks and tattered t-shirts
and allow its warm embrace to
wrap me in its memories once again.
It begins the story with
the faint scent of leather
as my guitar instructor shuts the door
to our small, stuffy practice room
on an early October afternoon.
The smell of fresh ink
and the shuffling of warm, crisp papers
brings on the familiar foreboding feeling
of lessons about annoying barre chords
I could never play and would give up on
two short months later.
Two short months later,
the next chapter starts.
A soft swirl of smells permeates the air:
peppermint hot chocolate
and freshly baked cinnamon rolls
while dancing through Macy's
to "Jingle Bell Rock" in the mall,
looking for a certain something
to hide away in the shiny blue paper
with the sparkly snowmen
and a little piece of tape--
the perfect Christmas present.
The present rushes back
as the dryer radiates
the heat and sweet smells
of my knit sweaters and fuzzy socks--
the comforting rewards of two
forty minute cycles and a cup of Tide.
I revel in the soft, snug feeling
and know that nothing will ever compare to
the warm, toasty hug
of my pale blue scarf.
