Whirling into Whispering Wind

I fall into a golden, crisp carpet of leaves
watching as the wind whirls them
into a painting of bronze butterflies
their wings rustle
and I am by the sea again
remembering the summer
I love the aroma of sweet-scented cinnamon
sprinkled on warm pumpkin pie
crunchy apples and maple leaves
brushing the air with a wash of maple syrup
As Mom calls
the leaves crackle under my boots
and I whirl into the whispering wind