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.
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.
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.
A colorful sight bursting with joy.
You can almost hear the garden’s heartbeat as you come closer.
And the sweet breath of life.
Look at you, Garden! You’ve grown so much in just a few weeks!
I feel revitalized with a new energy, and I call the kids to pick the gifts of nature.
With a handful of gems, I make a quick and simple meal.
To my surprise, no one even mentions the burger joint.
Rather, we let the joy of reunion carry the conversation.
We make Moroccan tea and tell summer stories.
We say good night, and we make sure to be thankful for a hearty welcome back home.