When I close my eyes I can still smell the morning air filled with the scent of lilacs. I can hear the train passing on the tracks behind the house, just as the morning sun kissed the top of the mountains outside my window.
The sounds of pots and pans working together,then the smell of bacon and coffee starts to overpower the sweet smell of the lilacs. I can hear the muffled voices of my Grandmother, aunts, and uncles. I stretch my arms out widely across my pillows covered by my grandmother’s patched quilt.
I am happy to be surrounded by everything that reminds me of her. I don’t have to look into the kitchen to see her, I already know she’s wearing one of her many vested aprons aligned with pockets across the front. When I stumble out of bed into her busy kitchen, she will look at me with her shiny dark eyes.
She doesn’t have to utter a single word. Her look tells me I am her world, and she understands that she is mine. I will climb up into my chair at the breakfast table surrounded by my family sharing stories of days gone by. A room filled with warmth and laughter.
After breakfast she, and I will walk down to her garden. We will pull weeds and turn the dark soil. I will pick the bright red tomatoes, and cucumbers from their vines. I will fill our baskets with carrots, onions, and peppers for our supper later on.
She watches me work, pleased that I have learned her way with the garden. I stare back at her with pride. Then I look up to the mountains I am surrounded by colors, and the sweet songs of the birds chirping from the apple trees. The sun shinning warmly on my face.
My Grandma lived in the mountains. When I close my eyes she is still there, and I am with her. Our moments passed by like the trains that crossed over the tracks. Cherished memories of sweet smells, and warm conversations that live on in my mind.