There she goes,
following a familiar note.
Of spices in the air,
Of memories held on to with care.

Through forgotten laughter and endless cups of tea.
Of spontaneous whims, of lived ceremonies.
Those winter mornings, and summer skies.
Of simple joys that time cannot deny.

It’s funny, what the senses keep.
A feeling, A memory,
Pieces of her from somewhere deep.

And when the scents return,
her heart knows the way.
And there she is.
Herself, all over again.