Isn't it peculiar how scents carry the memories of our pasts? Vanilla reminds me of the hot humid nights that I spent with the biggest family I had known.

Separated between two abodes, yet wrapped in one flavor. 10, 20, 30 gentle, matronly fingers would braid my hair and hum to me, in the cacophony of excited crickets.

I can feel the scorching sun again, and the cool oasis, and the familiarity I had felt with strangers I would come to miss. A mother and father besides my own, a charming prince, and a forgotten commoner. I felt admiration and hesitation.

A Señor, Señora, a brother and the occasional prickly tumbleweed. I laughed as I ran on the floor of the sun, questioning the snails and avoiding flaming warriors, to plunge into the cool calm with my earthy sibling.

The burning stench haunted me as I had lost my closest companion, but the sweet notes reverberated in my mind once again as crocodile tears were mopped by the crying, wayward softness.

I ran alone until I found one to protect, becoming as strong as the armored fish and the masticating turtle.

With tears in my eyes, and the memories curled around my finger, I wafted from the heat and invisible ocean to the misting grey clouds and the lingering petrichor.