From the smell of his old hat wafting around me when the air stirs just right to the beep beep beep of my new alarm clock that sounds strangely like his.
From the cold air on my face, tilted up to the sky, like nights out snowshoeing under a blanket of stars.
To the squish of wet earth under my feet, dragging me back in my mind to the land I grew up on, always just a few steps behind you.
From Christmas trees to log homes, from ladders to lights. From sawdust to whiskers. From stale smoke, to brown eyes just right.
Coffee & Conundrums 