As a child i loved watching my mother cook.

As a child I loved watching my mother cook. It was enchanting, with blond curls gathered on the nape of the neck and eyes shining.

Normally her energy was spread between my father and I, the endless shifts in the office and the documents piled up, untidily on the desk. Walking the streets there was always some stranger who stopped to greet her, fascinated by her elusive aura.