My head felt heavy and my forehead was aching as I woke up, but it wasn't enough pain to keep me down for long. I sat up slowly, the tinted tan ceiling reminded me of the slight color that would come to Aunt Brianna’s skin when she worked in the garden during the summer. It was light but dark enough of a shade to notice it.
After all spring and summer of working on carrots, squash, watermelon, corn, and many other things that we had to either pull or pluck from the ground, we would bring it all in at the end of the autumn season. Aunt Brianna would make squash soup, dried, sweet watermelon seeds, steamed corn on the comb, and she would put it in a bowl if I wanted when I was young. Even though it’s been two days, I missed her cooking already. I even missed the tasteless tomato slices that she would pickle with some salt and pepper then seal the can. She never knew how to make pickled tomatoes the right way but she perfected tomato soup. It was an odd talent that she had.