Mostly in the early morning, the smell of coffee reminds me of my childhood home. Memories burst into consciousness and feelings of well-being and the excited anticipation of starting a new day come flooding back. There is melancholy attached. Those day are gone. Then, a phone call, a voice I couldn’t place and you were back. My dear friend, my first love. More memories pulled from the long distance of time–Ice skating on a moonlit night, sitting on the front steps of my house talking for hours, walking to the top of the park and looking out at the view of Brooklyn and Manhattan. How fitting that we should meet again to reminisce in a coffee shop where the smell of coffee is strong, part of the fabric of the place, where sweet pastries adorn the glass cases like the pastels of flowers in springtime paintings.