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.
Tryntsje de Vries
My mother's hands smelled of soap and butter. Sometimes also of the garden — of earth and the herbs she picked. In the evening I could smell her hands on the sheet.
Two voices. One memory. Recorded 0 days apart.