If silence had a scent, it would smell like a cold winter's day in a pine forest. The cold air would be a fresh as a peppermint and the pine forest would be the after taste. Just five minutes would leave you feeling cleansed and refreshed with a red nose and cheeks. Snow has a way of silencing the world around us, muting the obnoxious sounds of the city. It calms the mind and the soul, slowing the daily grind of traffic and movement. We need more winter days filled with snow and silence to still our minds.

The small college town was very simple. Only the local gas station, a small IGA , and the locally owned cafe, used book exchange and favorite hangout for all, The Snoring Beagle Cafe. Daisy ran the bakery in the cafe, baking homemade cinnamon rolls and bread, as well as seasonal cakes and cupcakes. Her sister Anne ran the cafe, serving freshly brewed coffee and tea, and the daily assortment of freshly sliced deli meats and sides. Perhaps the best trait of the cafe was the mascot, a swayback pop belly Beagle named Nash. His snoring couldn't be ignored, but with the hum of voices and the pop of the large woodburning fireplace, no one minded. Seating in the cafe was close enough together that you could talk with your bestie or a group, but sit alone and read or listen to your own music with your ear buds. Located in the mountain town of Montague, the weather was usually cool and dry in the summer and cold and wet in the winter. On a rainy afternoon, every oversized chair and ottoman were filled with students and locals, sipping a warm beverage and warming by the fire. Nash would make his rounds to receive a scratch on his head or belly, then settle in his favorite spot by the stone hearth and began to snore. The tin roof made the most of the rain and the sound could lull you to sleep. Some read, some talked or listened to music, and some wrote their own stories. When evening arrived and the twinkling lights on the cafe front came on, people would stretch and began packing up their goods to return to campus of home. Some would order a to go order for their supper, others would make plans to meet at the cafe the next day and leave with a smile on their face, knowing they would return to this safe haven soon.

We use it up and throw it in the bin, Never to think of or see it again. How much waste can one household make? Ask the trashman, I'm sure his take would be a head shake and a great big frown. How much does he see in one day around town. Paper and plastic, items piled up high, things we can't live without until we realize the lie. We don't need more, oh the money we spend, trying to get the newest model, our pockets we rend. The landfills are full of what we had to have, Are we really any better or was it just a salve to fill an emptiness that objects can't fill. The waste of a nation who texts rather than calls, but looks for fulfilment behind our walls.

Life is full of seasons. With each season comes change, some good and some bad, but the one thing that didn't change was the love my grandmother showed me. That love was not always expressed as kind words and a hug. Sometimes my actions warranted gentle guidance and discipline to teach me wrong from right. As I became older, I took for granted that love, having never not had it. When my grandmother died, I grieved for that consistent love that I knew I would never have privilege to again. The goodness of it all is I have the memories of the way my grandmother's love made me feel.