For some reason, the smell of fresh bread reminds me of when I was small. Particularly when I would play in the garden with my sister. I’m not sure why, but it makes me miss those simple days.
We had grand adventures together in the woods, fighting off imaginary beasts and climbing mountains that were actually trees.
And I remember sneaking sweet peas while helping my father with his vegetable garden. He was always the green thumb in the family.
It also reminds me sometimes of the day we got our first dog. A golden retriever, with thick, fluffy fur and big brown eyes. She was a good dog, always looking after us.
My apartment doesn’t allow pets.
I miss home. I should stop making bread all the time.