I can’t recall how many years its been since I last felt the rush of crisp, cool wind kneading against my bare skin in the open landscapes of Minnesota. The way that the pale moon would dance among the glimmering stars and the wolves would sing their beautiful songs throughout the night brought back so many memories from when I would spend long nights with my grandmother, it felt almost as if a newborn life was trickling through my veins as I peered down at it all, taking in all of the scenery and flashbacks from the past that surrounded me. A portion of this precious landscape belongs to my Grandmother, Abigail Fischer. Her hair is short and wavy with hints of caramel and grey as it makes a frame around her small, rounded facial structures and tickled her rosy cheeks as the wind brushed against her. Her eyes mimicked the alluring color patterns of a blue hydrangea flower with soft wrinkles outlining their outer edges, which were immensely visible every time she smiled or let out her soft and almost hushed laugh. Abigail has always had the most brilliant personality, she never fails to raise a smile upon my face with her peculiar jokes and remarks about anything under the sun. She’s always been so sweet yet ambitious at the same time, especially when she decides to try new crafts in her spare time while she sways back and forth in her wooden rocking chair, which was conveniently placed on the boards of her front porch, overlooking the beautiful Minnesota scenery. Her remarkable taste for color has always astounded me, especially with the way she carries a paintbrush and allows for its smooth and silky bristles to brush against her canvases in a steady sweep. To her, painting felt like a form of dancing, with each stride of her paintbrush she developed new patterns and color formations that would bond together to form one masterpiece as her body swayed with the continuous rhythm of the brush. I began to approach the front porch of her beautiful home, where I saw her peacefully sitting in her rocking chair, gazing down upon her newly painted canvas. Her hands were fragile and wrinkled as they grasped hold of the wet canvas. Her head quickly rose to the sound of my feet scrunching against the gravel in the driveway and that all too familiar smile came upon her face. I began to run towards her, the gravel being thrown from underneath my feet with every stride until I finally made my way to her and leaped into a gentle embrace. Her smell of sweet daisies and fresh oats flooded my senses, bringing back memories of the times where I’d help her bake in the small kitchen inside or go out into the garden and pick out flowers to give her. Even if all of the ‘flowers’ that I picked ended up being weeds, she always smiled and accepted my gifts with gratitude and praised me for my hard work. One remarkable characteristic about Abigail is that she shows compassion and endless love towards everyone she cares deeply for, but she's also tough and wont let others boss her or her loved ones around. She's always been there for me and always makes me the sweetest of presents including paintings, drawings, clothing, baked goods, and her amazing homemade soups. She carefully wrapped her fragile and  greatly aged arm around mine and lead me back into the warmly lit house, its cream colored walls bringing me to a sense of ease. She took my into the kitchen, the smell of baking ingredients flooded my nose as she pulled out all of the utensils for her original no bake cookie recipe. We stood together in that kitchen, mixing together all kinds of ingredients and laughing upon each other as if we were some crazy witches from an old movie. The smell of fresh chocolate and cooked oats filled the room as we stirred the cookie mix above the hot stove before we dropped them onto the freshly torn waxed paper, making perfect balls of delicious, gooey chocolate oatmeal no bake cookies. It was in this moment that I felt at peace, and that Abigail could allow for her sweet smile to crawl upon her face once more as we dined on her outstanding cookies and watched the beautiful Minnesota sun fall down upon the pine trees, setting the land into a peaceful, dark night.