A Memory's Scent

Everyone has a fond childhood memory, and mine often center around summer fruit-picking, particularly strawberries. I remember picking the reddest, ripest ones that made our car smell like summer; I remember sneaking bites of marshmallow-soft strawberries while making jam and the ruby-red color staining my fingers. Whenever I smell a ripe strawberry, I transcend space and time and find myself in another place, a cathedral of a memory.