Standing in the middle of the family room, I close my eyes.

Breathing deeply, I can almost smell the warmth of bread baking while pies cool on the window sill.

I can imagine being awakened by the aromatic brew of fresh coffee.

I can’t help but wonder about the many evenings after dinner when my grandmother would gather the children and impart her wisdom with stories of her native homeland and traditions.

It’s damp inside now.

Rain begins to fall, the sound against the tin roof echos a melody.

With all of my senses aroused, I embrace the warm sentiments.

2022©Isadora DeLaVega

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Genre: Flash Fiction

Word Count: 100

Photo Prompt:©LisaFox

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