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We’re driving our final hours after several weeks far from home, and I am thinking of arriving to an empty house, with a list of things that need to be taken care of—first of all, dinner.

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I am a grown up now. I have my own family, and no one has spent all afternoon making me a hearty soup, waiting for my return from a long trip. But I am not going to repeat past mistakes. I’m not going to start, before even paying a visit to the bathroom, running to the grocery store, running back to the kitchen, and sucking the last drops of energy from my tank, all for the sake of a meal that will revive everyone, perhaps, except me. It’s too late anyways, I already reminded the boys about their favorite burger place in our nearby downtown.

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And then finally, we are home. As soon as the car engine shuts off, there is a silence that, in a strange way, as in a TV ad, suddenly fills with something like a melody coming from our garden. Almost like a welcome, a warm welcome – warm like a hug.

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A colorful sight bursting with joy.

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You can almost hear the garden’s heartbeat as you come closer.

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And the sweet breath of life.

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Look at you, Garden! You’ve grown so much in just a few weeks!

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I feel revitalized with a new energy, and I call the kids to pick the gifts of nature.

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With a handful of gems, I make a quick and simple meal.

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delicious

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To my surprise, no one even mentions the burger joint.

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Rather, we let the joy of reunion carry the conversation.

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We make Moroccan tea and tell summer stories.

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We say good night, and we make sure to be thankful for a hearty welcome back home.

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