Smell Your History

While I was lazing in bed yesterday morning, I gazed out my window at the queen palms, crepe myrtles, and redbuds fluttering every which way in our windy backyard. The temperature of my room felt cool and dry, and something else in the air struck such a familiar chord it sent my mind back to days long-since forgotten. Instantly, I was my eight-year-old self, leaving the house for school, and I saw the world not through the eyes of an adult, but through my eight-year-old eyes.