Greta Schmidt
My mother's hands smelled of soap and flour, sometimes of the garden — of earth and herbs. When she tucked me in at night, her scent stayed on the pillow.
◆ A recognition
They never met.
They shared this.
Tell me something about your mother's hands. The smell, the shape, what they did.
Helga Weber
My mother's hands were rough from doing the laundry, but in the evening when she stroked my hair they felt soft. They smelled of lavender.
Two voices. One memory. Recorded 0 days apart.