Running through the field bathed in golden rays falling from the early spring sun and through the bright green grass growing up to her knees she tried to remember how to reach her favorite spot. Alone on a small hill she found her tree, a lonely willow with great branches drooping down so that they skimmed the ground. She climbed up the hill and under the branches and lay in the shade, as she smelled the sweet spring air. She knew the scent well, daffodils and daisies after a spring shower, the scent her had mother always worn. It had been two years since her mother had pasted away, but she could still smell the cinnamon buns her mother used to make baking in the oven and she could still hear the bacon sizzling on the stove each morning. She remembered everything she could about her mother the...