Mmmm, the yummy aroma of fresh flour rising on the griddle of the stove comes floating by my nose like a cloud and gently kisses my nose. Well, at least it felt that way when I was a little child. There was nothing better than fresh homemade flour tortillas to make Papa burritos for breakfast and lunch that day but only his breakfast was at midnight. Sleepyhead and wide eyed at the same time, I would tiptoe over my baby sister, trying not to wake her, and ask Mama for a yummy warm burrito. Mama laughs and gives me my burrito, and I so happily eat with the glow of the moon on top as dawn sets in.