It was the smell of time
And the light falling just so,
That invoked memories
Of times long ago.
I thought I had forgotten
The magic of her voice.
Detailing mysteries and fantasies
That I had never known before.
She made me think
Of poetry and sunshine
Sitting at that desk.
Writing outside the lines.
Dust motes danced through the air
As a ray of light fell on the chalkboard.
The projector--rarely used--
Crackled when it turned on.
I sat at that desk,
Watching my trees.
There were rainstorms every Monday,
Blowing leaves in the breeze.
All brought back by the smell of dust,
As I vacuumed up the floor.
Told me a story of an empty classroom,
