Thursday, October 3, 2013

Time for Gloves: Red Leather and Perfume. . .























This weekend's stormy weather has pushed us into that week where students balk. They've hit the reality of the university classroom, and reading for English class appears to be the first to go, in deference to studying for biology, math, French. My carrots seem little more motivation than my sticks, and I sense I need more tap-dancing and juggling moves, perhaps a decent stand-up routine, to keep their attention. It's all rather exhausting, although admittedly not without its surprising good moments.

All of which is to say, I got nothing! But I didn't want to say that, and not just because it's so ungrammatical. I just don't care to let you down.

And recently, going through my last year or two of Moleskines, I came across this little poem I wrote last year. I almost never write poetry, but this one just plucked my pen out of my purse and forced its way onto my page. I'll transcribe it here for you, shall I, and then we can all get on with our next move of the day. . . .

Dug out my gloves
yesterday,
releasing from a summer’s
storage
their fragrances,
kid-napping me
back to a moment
last winter
when the now-empty bottle
of Terre d’Hermès
lent a misty alchemy of
cedar and citrus and earthy minerals

to the red leather’s bouquet.

As always, thanks so much for reading. I wish you a Happy Thursday -- will you be wearing gloves yet or are you in warmer climes?

22 comments:

  1. Just when we think you've shown us all your talents:).

    Plus I love that photo.

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    1. It turned out well, that photo, didn't it? Surprised me, actually . . .

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  2. Lovely photo & lovely poem. It's incredibly mild here for October, the gloves are still off.

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    1. I wouldn't need the gloves here either except for my bike commute in the morning, especially when it's raining. . .

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  3. I love your poem. No gloves for me yet but there is something lovely about the memories evoked by the residual fragrance on a scarf or gloves. Iris H

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    1. Thanks, Iris. I do find that faded fragrance on scarf or gloves very evocative, nostalgic at times, wistful at others, sometimes just reverie-inducing . . .

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  4. Love the red gloves and apples! Evokes the vision of fall that I love. The poem is a nice treat. Thanks for sharing it! It's still in the 80's here in WV and the ragweed is creating havoc with breathing. Your part of the world is much more appealing...

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    1. Thanks, Vivian -- hard for me to imagine 80-degree weather right now. We've switched right over -- fall storm on the weekend, heavy rains on and off since, sporadic sunshine, but this morning woken by the foghorns booming from a freighter just offshore. . .

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  5. Wish it were cool enough here for gloves. It's that time of year when it's hard to figure out how to dress -- warm enough not to be chilled, but not so warm that you're all sweaty when you get where you're going.

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    1. Those sound like perfect temperatures. . . and it must be welcome after your very warm Spanish summer.

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  6. It's amazing how evocative scent can be, isn't it? Only poetry rivals it.

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  7. "Kid-napping"- oh ma, you did it again!

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    1. I wondered if anyone would catch that. . . ;-)

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  8. I got it too!! :0)

    I love leather gloves, that's one of the items I always look for in Winners (I rarely find clothes, can't be bothered looking through the racks).

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    1. Of course you did! ;-)
      Winners is exactly where I found these gloves -- and I found my favourite caramel pair there as well, and my black ones . . . Not so good at sorting through the clothes on the racks. . . kindred spirits!

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  9. Your photo catches a well-loved suppleness about the gloves that hints they may have many stories to tell beyond the fragrance you've shared with us in your poem...
    We have still had temps in the 80's this week and I am surrounded by posts and images of beautiful sweatersandlayersandaccessoriesandmore and just keep telling myself that one of these days the weather has to change.

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    1. It's true, isn't it, about gloves, the way the hands, right into the fingers, become as individually marked as our skin, thanks to their suppleness, stories folded right into those lifelines.
      I hope that October warmth is at least balanced by some coolish nights so the inevitable adjustment to a changed thermometer won't be too tough. . .

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  10. Oh my--before I even got to your lovely poem, the photograph had conjured the wonderful leather fragrance of the thin leather gloves my mum used to wear. Love that . . .

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    1. Leather just grabs the fragrance in a marvelously subtle, rich way, doesn't it?!

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  11. I've been missing some of your posts - this is another that didn't show up on my sidebar - a blogger mystery. The poem, well, I liked it an awful lot. It reminded me of something that had completely slipped from my memory - my mother's glove drawer and the scent of Lanvin's Arpege that clung to the lining of her delicate kid gloves.

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    1. My mom wore Arpègefor a while also. I always think of that commercial from so long ago. . . Promise her anything, but give her Arpège. . . .probably not written by a feminist. . . ;-)

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I'd love to hear your response to my post. Agree, disagree, even go off on a tangent, I love to know you're out there, readers. Let's chat, shall we? I apologize, though, for the temporary necessity of the Word Verification -- spam comments have been tiresomely numerous lately, and I'm hoping to break that pattern.

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