She was four years old at the time, and many years have passed since, but she can still taste the warm milk, and smell the indoor winter smell. Parenting books have long since decided that a four year old shouldn't be drinking from a baby bottle, but lucky for her, her mother never relied on public consensus.

So on that cold winter afternoon, she was curled up on the sofa, looking out the glass porch doors towards where the children were building snowmen against the backdrop of a setting sun. There was something so sweet about the moment. The toasty warmth, the familiar taste, the gentle touch. The sky outside was quickly fading from a pristine blue to streaks of ever deepening pink. The lake in the distance had already turned to ice, and the squeals of the children outside involved in the snowball fight seemed like the perfect background for the most ideal form of unwinding.

In her young mind she realized that she understood perfection. Not how to obtain it, nor how to share it. But she was certain she was experiencing it.

Years would pass, and often the everyday seemed rough. The setting sun too harsh, the outdoors too cold, the children's gabbing too loud, and the stress of the day appeared to overwhelm. So she'd think back to those lazy days, when the colors were so pleasantly muted, the sounds such a charming melody. Her taste buds would savor the familiar taste, and she'd smile.

Learn more about this author, Shirley Hess.
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