Red Hunting Cap

It caught my eye. That red hunting cap. Nonchalantly sitting in my dad's closet. I had long ago stopped looking for it. Given up on the memories it held, a long drawn out sigh mingling with the crisp winter air in a puff and gone. But now, miraculously, here again. I clutched it and whiffed it. What's wrong with me. A picture memory flashed of her showing off my birthday gift. The old one had broken after being well aged. I loved it. Much sturdier than the last. But in particular, she gave it to me. I inhaled. Nothing. I inhaled. Gone. What's wrong with me again. They say that smell is one of the strongest links to memory. Maybe that too is gone. You don't even remember her voice any more withe. You told yourself you've let go. Yet, minute strands cling like bothersome fuzz. Sigh. Just an old hat with good memories. It's nice seeing it again. But. Just an old hat with good memories. I managed to smile.