📝 Blog Post: Spilled Milk

a story —Mama, where do stories come from? Annia splattered the water, creating ripples in the sky. It was a nice cool feeling. She did not care for swimming in spring, but she enjoyed how her feet played without her. —Look up there. —Her mother pointed to the water at the horizon, the sun greeting them as equal—. What do you see? —The sun? The water? —No, what do you really see? What does that remind you of? —Spilled milk. —She giggled, thinking of her mother’s question as silly. —What else? —Annia’s mother did not giggle, but she nodded. —Hmm… it is golden, like orange juice spilled. Now it was her mother’s turn to giggle. —That does not make for a good story, now does it? —Hmm… maybe? —Annia could think of many stories with spilled milk and orange juice. Stories of their Sunday brunches and the fights with her siblings. Stories about fighting over who goes first, about being able to do it herself. The patience of her mother cleaning it up. Kind and loving, as if it were the most…

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