Sweetness

I noticed it a few nights ago.
That old, familiar smell.  I don't know if it's from a bush growing at the edge of the woods.  Maybe flowers I didn't notice. 
Could just be the wet, warm earth.
But as it wafts by on a breeze, I am back in the mountains at my grandparents' homes.
I never smell it without thinking of summers spent there.
Of being outside in the morning when either of my grandmas would be working in the garden.
Of catching lightening bugs and swinging until dark.
Of that cooler, fresher air that I only breath there.
It always seems to pass by as quickly as it came and I find myself actually looking around, breathing deeply, hoping to get it back.
Could it be when I am the grandma that I will still so easily be taken back to those days of my childhood?
I hope so.
Often my heart aches a bit for those memories, both missing them and being thankful for them.
And I wait for the next time.
The next time that fragrance reminds me again of those sweet times and sweeter people that I call mine.