Seasons and memories have always been so weird to me.  I almost get seasonal depression, but not in the season one may suspect.

I get this feeling when it’s cold;  I’m content with everything and the most peaceful I have ever felt in my life.  My heart almost freezes, as if to stay in that feeling.

There seems to always be a memory associated with this feeling in my head.  It’s one of the strongest memories from my childhood, though that doesn’t say much. It’s a haze of little things.

I remember the dress. It was a new, red dress for Christmas.

I remember the bear. Its paws lit up and it played a song. It was my favorite gift that year.

I remember the restaurant. It was right outside the mall, about 30 minutes away from home.

I remember the driveway. It was littered with pine needles.

I remember my parents.  They were happy, for once.

Everything was perfect.  It is the only time I look back and think I had a picture-perfect childhood.  It’s the only time I don’t remember yelling.  It’s the only time everyone got along.  It was the only time there was love everywhere.

Maybe that’s why I get so happy when it’s cold outside.