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.
◆ A recognition
They never met.
They shared this.
Tell me something about your mother's hands. The smell, the shape, what they did.
Margaret Thompson
My mother's hands smelled of soap and flour. They were always busy — bread, washing, mending. When she tucked me in, her hands smelled of lavender water.
Two voices. One memory. Recorded 0 days apart.