As I read this the taste of vanilla melting cakelettes come to me too. But more than this the earliest memories of a four year old five year old boy facing the back fence of my country home observing the blaze of light in hay as it was being harvested by workers and me in utter awe of the instance of beauty before it evanescence disappeared and many other memories now too which have been excited by Prousts recollection of a treat that opened the same door to forgottn experience as me.