Anna van der Berg
My mother's hands always smelled of soap and butter from cooking. Sometimes of the garden, of thyme. 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.
Wim Bakker
My mother's hands were rough from working in the stable. But when she tucked me in at night they felt soft and smelled of soap.
Two voices. One memory. Recorded 0 days apart.