Excerpt #3 - from my book

PROLOGUE or PRELUDE? - Does anyone know the difference in what these two words mean? The idea is that the below excerpt will go at the opening of the book.

Excerpt #3
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The smell of rain often stirs something deep inside of me.  I wish I could label that stirring, that emotion it elicits.  But its a different feeling each time. And I suppose some things were never meant to be labeled.  Usually I just accept that the feeling or emotion remains out of reach.  Maybe you’re like me, maybe you’re not; smells have always been intimate for me. They are storage for memories of times past or days ahead still dreamed of.  A smell can take me back instantly to when I was eight years old building a castle of pine needles in the woods behind my house.  I can remember the feel of the sticky pine sap on my fingers and the sweet smell as I would bring my hand to my nose and take it in.  I would gather lush and vivid colored moss in bits and parts and carefully piece them together to mold into a rug embracing the inside of my hand-spun castle.  I would then lay my body gently on the moss, close my eyes, whisper songs, dream and breath in the pleasant earthiness (sometimes if the moss was too wet, the smell wasn’t very pleasant).  Even when Mom would bring home a brand new magazine, I loved to be the first one to hold it.  I would take each page between my thumb and index finger and rub to hear the familiar creak of newness.  Then (making sure no one was looking), would bend down and breathe in the smell of the fresh pages, feeling the warmth of it. 
Smells also open a window to dream.  I’ve always been a dreamer and a romantic.  Mom used to threaten to send me to school in my PJ’s because rearranging the furniture in my dollhouse was much more important than getting ready for school. She never understood how vital it was for me to have my room in order every morning if the Queen should come to visit while I was away at school.  Smells have always been apart of dreaming for me.  That’s why the air after rain often makes me hesitate for a brief moment.  A quick space in time just long enough to relive a memory or to smile at a lingering dream.