@mamasitawawa

I was probably around four years old. It was early summer, and the air hadn’t yet turned hot - it still smelled fresh, like morning dew and the sweet scent of earth. Grandma and I went out to the garden, and I already knew - today we’d be picking strawberries. I remember running barefoot between the rows, carefully stepping through the leaves so I wouldn’t crush any berries. They peeked out from under the green plants - red, shiny, like tiny treasures. I always searched for the biggest ones, the ones hiding deep beneath the leaves, because I knew those were the sweetest. Grandma would laugh when she saw how my little bucket stayed nearly empty - because most of the berries disappeared straight into my mouth. I’d sit right on the ground, with red-stained fingers and chin, happier than any child could be. Back then, there was nothing better in the world than a warm strawberry, freshly picked, with a hint of soil and sunshine. Sweet memory. Foto taken by me today.

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