The arbor in October,
grapes bursting purple with flavor,
the scent intoxicating.

More than the summer crop
these last ones of the season
at the very top of the vines

fostered dreams of being taller
and the taste of homemade bread
slathered with butter from our dairy

and mother’s prize winning jam.
Each year the scent sneaks in
to my sensory center,

provocateur
and harbinger
of winter.

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