How I love the smell of kindling,
Sawdust flying through the air;
Love the smell of pine tree resin,
White oak splits for caning chairs.
Chain saws, screaming down the timber
For the fires that kept us warm;
Love the smell of dampened fire logs
Sizzling hot through winter storm.
Cedar chests and wormy chestnut;
Varnished frames, all freshly made
White pine stretching up and outward
As I sit beneath its shade.
Sometimes smells can conjure memories
That you thought were gone for good.
If I’m teary-eyed, remember
Daddy ALWAYS smelled of wood.
copyright © 1998 by Moleta Ruth McCarter. all rights reserved.
