The sky was cornflower blue. No wind, no sound, only the distant murmur of the sea. The fields stood rich and green, the forests stretched toward the light like weary giants.
Sina walked slowly along a narrow path, barefoot, the grass cool against her feet. A delicate scent of jasmine drifted in the air, strange and yet familiar. Ahead lay her house, the roof moss-covered, the stable open, hens clucking somewhere behind it.
When she reached the gate, the door swung open.
“Mother!”
A blond girl with round cheeks and sparkling eyes ran toward her, barefoot like her, her dress smudged from play.
“Mother, where have you been all these days? Father searched for you everywhere.”
Sina smiled, knelt down, stroked her daughter’s hair, kissed her forehead. The scent of hay lingered in the air, and still that fine trace of jasmine that would not fade.
“Well, I do not know, my child.”
“Come, let’s go inside. Father made soup.”
Alina took her hand and led her in. The wooden boards creaked under their steps, the fire burned in the hearth.
At the table stood Matthes, spoon in hand. When he saw her, he dropped everything, came to her, pulled her close, firm, warm.
“God in heaven… where have you been?” His voice was rough with emotion.
Sina laid her forehead against his shoulder, then lifted her head, looking around: the heavy table, the low ceiling, walls of clay, Alina’s basket of little carved wooden figures in the corner.
She tried to think, then shook her head.
“I don’t know, Matthes. I was… somewhere. There was something. But what… and where… I simply don’t know.”
She looked at the fire beneath the pot. Small, but alive. Another pot steamed on the chest, and the smell of beans with cabbage filled the room.
Her arm grew heavy, and only then did she look down and notice she was carrying something: a clay pot filled with jasmine blossoms.