The strawberry tart
I saw myself running around with the big dog of the house, I was probably four or five years old.
My little fingers were painting on the wall of my room a smiling yellow sun. I thought it was beautiful but the others didn´t think it that way. I got punished for at least one week. No ice-cream, no bicycle rides around the farm yard.
I whispered important secrets into my cousin´s ear. She did the same with me. We promised we would have always been there to help each other. I am happy to say that in the following years we kept that promise.
A huge red and white cake appeared on the door of my room with 10 little burning candles on it. I wished I could remember all of it forever.
And I did.
I do.
Every time I smell the fragrance of the strawberry tart I make the way my grandma taught me.
