Golden

At its summit, this dandling season
pauses for a breath—as if taken at the crest of a grassy hill
before rolling, side over giddy side,
to the bottom.
Something subtle shifts—
amber sunlight angles sidelong,
displacing buttercup beams.
Crisp, unfamiliar air
runs a slim, cool finger across the cheek.

And in this soft caress—
a bewildering scent, once blossom-blessed,
now seems to rise from 
the stillness of an antique shop.
It is here,
in this suspended moment,
where the heart whispers its goodbyes—
and the palm closes gently
over golden memories
kept.