The smell of ginger bread fills the kitchen with the heat of an oven reminding me I am home.

Stepping outside is a shock wave of senses, the smell of snow in the air that the wind has left behind.

The smell of a Christmas tree with the needles littering the floor,

filling the room with an earthy scent that makes my heart flutter knowing Christmas is near.

The taste of homemade sugar cookie dough with the hint of almond extract,

one that mom always sweared by as her “secret ingredient” I can still hear her telling me I’d get sick from eating it.

The taste of dad’s eggnog with a little too much rum for chasing away the cold and leaving fireworks in your throat.

Like the taste of hot chocolate on a cold night, huddled around the fire or skating on a sheet of ice.

I will always remember the feeling of gloves on my hand that never really kept out the cold, but did their best

or how snow feels when it lands on your skin and melts almost instantly from the heat of your body,

reminding you that you are alive. But most of all I remember the warmth of a fire, in mid afternoon,

to steal the cold from my nose and stop my limbs from shaking. This is Christmas.