My bags dropped at the front door of my Uncle Bill’s house in Hilo, Hawaii. A feeling of anticipation runs through my body. I know exactly where I want to be. I immediately run to the backyard rushing to open the back screen door and feel the fresh Hawaiian breeze. My foot steps outside onto the cold concrete, and my muscles relax. A feeling of content rushes over me like a wave against the sand. Nothing has changed since the last time I visited. The wood panel walls are still painted white, slowly chipping as the house slowly ages. There are still rusted thermometers shaped like suns and stars hanging along the walls, never giving an accurate temperature. The cheap white plastic table, surrounded by the matching chairs, still remain in the middle of the patio, as if my spot near the window has not been sat in since I left. I run my fingers along the smooth plastic of one of the chairs as I make my way to the edge of the patio, where the concrete meets the grass. I look out into the one-acre long yard, no matter how old I am, the yard feels like it stretches for miles and miles. I take one step onto the wet green grass, feeling the bottom of my checkered Vans sink just slightly into the ground. I turn my head to the left, smiling as I remember all the times I climbed so high on the old orange tree. I would spend hours just sitting amongst the branches, still small enough to fit alongside the oranges. The orange tree always had the sweetest oranges, better than any from the supermarket. The mud colored trunk was my favorite to climb, due to the fact that its smooth texture would never cut my small hands. I see oranges on the ground surrounding the tree, bruised and wrinkled, not picked in time to be used properly. The once green leaves are now a dark brown, scattered alongside the old oranges, and damp from the wet grass. All the memories from the classic orange tree make my lips curl from ear to ear, remembering all the laughs and even cries that were made with the old tree.
The sounds that flood my ears bring a calming sensation whenever I am in the backyard. The birds chirping back and forth from the various fruit trees scattered randomly around the yard. The slight breeze that rustles through every leaf and branch every few minutes. The sound of laughter coming from my family through the open window. The oven door shutting as my uncle finishes the final steps of his famous apple pie. The soothing sounds in the backyard comfort me as I walk through the open blanket of grass.

My uncle’s backyard is filled with many of my most cherished smells. My favorite is the smell of fresh apple pie as my uncle places it on the windowsill to cool. The cinnamon smell travels through the air and instantly catches the attention of anyone around. My mouth waters thinking about the delicious scent. I always look forward to the smell of the wet grass after rain fall. The damp scent in the air brings comfort to my body, that's used to the dry atmosphere back home in the deserts of Arizona. The tropical smells from the fruit trees and rain gives me a big smile every time it hits my nose. I wish I could have candles of all the unique smells that come with the backyard, but it only makes them more special when I don’t get to smell them everyday.

As I’m reminiscing on the many great qualities of my uncle’s backyard. I soon realize that it has gotten late and the sky has changed to a dark blue. The stars are more clear here, with no city nearby to dampen their bright light. I grab a blanket from the house and lay it down on the open grass. I slowly lay down on the warm blanket and watch the sky as if it were my favorite movie. The air is cool and the small breeze still blows through the air. Goosebumps ran up my spine as I took in the beauty of the trees dark silhouettes and the light radiating from the full moon. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. Oh, how beautiful this backyard is to me.