On my kitchen table, beside the baby rose and underneath a vibrant painting by my mother of her and I, sits a cedar box. It is beautiful. It is full to the brim. The top has a gorgeous black painting on it. It looks like a First Nations’ picture. The top is smooth. I think it used to have smoked salmon in it. Now it is full. It is full of a delicious aroma. Cedar.
I breathe it in, pulling it deep into my lungs. I am careful with my hands. The box is roughly cut everywhere other than the top. My hands hold it gently as I draw my breath. I close my eyes and focus on that gorgeous scent. I replace the lid and put the box back on the table.
The box is full. It is full of a gorgeous smell. Cedar.