"the breezes taste of apple peel.
the air is full of smells to feel -
ripe fruit, old footballs, burning brush,
new books, erasers, chalk, and such.
the bee, his hive, well-honeyed hum,
and mother cuts chrysanthemums.
like plates washed clean with suds,
the days are polished with a morning haze."
-john updike, september