Once, Marika and my mom went to the forest to pick raspberries. And then we got lost. She found us, terrified, and cooked this porridge to celebrate that we were together.
Take a deep breath! Can you smell the campfire? The sea breeze too? Can you hear Niagara roaring longingly? I've already had a bite, so I've got it on stereo.
The flowers of the cinnamon tree are so tiny, translucent yellowish, tenderly fluffy, as if with a reflection of another world. Only their scent will stay with us.
