Looking down at the pot he was stirring he took a deep breath of the wafting aroma. Memories of his childhood came to mind. This was the one thing his mother would always make when he was unwell. It was also one of the few times she would stay by his side night and day. In those movements she would be soft and attentive like how he witnesses the other mothers were to their children. He could remember ever shared smile, story told and songs sung. And subsequently every bowl of soup served, savoring each sip fed by his mother.
