31No one answered the door at Baba Tereska’s, so I walked around back. There she was, in her vegetable garden, down on her hands and knees.
I stopped and watched for a moment as a wave of déjà vu rippled through me. I remembered seeing her like that so many times before; she’d been my babysitter often when I was little, and she’d almost always spent the days working in her vegetable garden and flower beds.
Speaking of the flowers, the air was thick with their sweet fragrance. The beds along the back of the house and the edge of the yard were bulging with pansies, petunias, carnations, begonias, and wild roses. I closed my eyes and breathed in their perfume, savoring the rich mixture of scents and the rush of childhood memories they evoked.
“Well, hello there, kochanie.” Baba Teresk
