Maria du Toit
I remember my mother's hands smelled of soap and dough. When she hugged me, I always smelled her. Hands that smelled of work, of home.
◆ 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.