Entering my house, the smell of hamburger and tomato soup fills the air. I feel the heat spread, warming me up. On this winter day, I grin and wander into the kitchen, slightly tired after school. The lights shine down on the granite countertop and glint off the stainless steel appliances. “Do I smell hamburgers and tomato soup?” I ask, pulling all my homework out of my backpack. My stomach groans as I see pots and pans of the juicy hamburger and steaming soup.  

“Yep, your dad requested it,” Mom says as she stirs the soup.

She places mashed potatoes onto a plate followed by the tiny sliders, still dripping like an ice cream cone on a hot day. Then comes the tomato soup—smothered on top of the hamburger and potato. The potato turns a dark orange as a wave of soup slowly spreads around the plate.

Three more plates are filled with potato, sliders, and tomato soup—one for each of us. My parents, brother and I snatch our plates. With my first bite, I close my eyes and am reminded of summer. The potatoes are white fluffy clouds. The tomato soup is the sun beating down, keeping me warm. And the sliders are the beach where I swim and have fun.

I taste the sweet and salty concoction in my mouth for the rest of the night. The warmth fills my body and wraps me like a blanket of happiness. It feels like summer again, even in the frigid Wisconsin winter.