I sit at my desk and as I start writing, I hear the calming pitter patter of rain. I walk toward the window to close it, and I’m taken away by the strong scent. It was a cornucopia of smells; trees from the mountains my house sits atop, the humid cloud of rain and the sweet smelling flowers in my neighbor’s garden. I slam the window just as it starts to pour, and walk over to the kitchen for some hot cocoa. As I wait for the water to boil, I walk over to the piano, gracing my fingers on the shining oak exterior. I start to play an anonymous melody with my fingers lightly tapping each key to hear the harmonious ring of the note.
My cocoa is ready and as I take the first sip, a feeling of nostalgia overtakes me. I remember the cold night in November when I came home from school almost frost bitten. My mother took one look at me, and gasped. She rushed over and started helping me with my jacket and boots, and soon after started to boil some water. I walked past the beautiful carved wood mirror and noticed my cherry red nose. Before I could think any longer, the intense burning sensation coursed of my hand. I looked down to notice the hot cocoa spilling onto my fingertips. I sighed and wished my memory hadn’t faded away.
