Little Thing No.3

{At dusk}

It takes special conditions: warm weather; open windows; sun set.

When all of these things happen, something magical happens to the upstairs of our house.

It smells like nothing else in this world.

It smells like what I imagine heaven must smell like.

You climb the stairs and when you hit the top, that smell is there.

It's fresh and sweet and muggy; a little like laundry and a little like rain.

Why the upstairs and not the downstairs, I'll never know, but it's been this way since I was little.

It's what life smelled like when I was 8.

It's me sitting in the garage with my Dad, not talking, just watching thunderstorms.

It's waking up early in the summertime, just before the sun did, when it was foggy and quiet and I would read in bed before going downstairs for breakfast.

It's summer vacation, when I didn't know or care what day of the week it was.

It's my Mom getting home from work and talking with her while she made dinner.

But more than anything else, it's home.