Yard sale

Today, I thought of you.  I drove by a sign written in large black letters, "Yard Sale."  The flood of memories came to me in an instant as if it were just yesterday.
Today, I thought of you as I remembered the drive down a bumpy road, past Aunt Goldie's house, and right onto Mayfair.  The smell of spiced apples perfectly wrapped in dough and covered in sugar and caramel sauce was as strong as the day you stood and sold them to anyone who happened by.  A big pot of chili you called your witches brew stewing on a nearby table ready to be gobbled down by hungry buyers.  And, in my mind, your specialty (I liked to pretend you made them especially for me), perfectly wrapped and brightly colored popcorn balls.
Today, I thought of you and chuckled a little as I watched people gathering at the yard sale with children running around.  I envisioned the little blue motor bike we took to the back of your yard while the adults chattered and talked about things I knew nothing of.  Riding it down the perfect little hill that was just steep enough for excitement but small enough to keep from getting hurt.
Today, I thought of you when I read that sign that said, "Yard Sale."  For those two little words together will always mean something much more.
I thought of you today.  And it made me smile.