“Viedriukas” of wild forest strawberries

In the evening, I called my husband and asked him to stop after work and buy a watermelon. Soon, he appeared at home with a bouquet of white roses, a watermelon, and a little bucket of strawberries.
“I didn’t ask for flowers or strawberries,” I smiled.
“I know you like roses,” he said, “and I bought the wild strawberries from the grandmother standing by the supermarket, bitten badly by mosquitoes. She asked for twelve, I gave her fifteen.”

And indeed…
When I walk the dog, I’m afraid to stop and pick even one that catches my eye, because if I squat down, I get stung by sharp mosquitoes a dozen times. But here! A whole little bucket of tiny, perfect, untouched strawberries!

Soon the house fills with the strong aroma of strawberries. But more than them, I smell my husband’s gesture—
noticing those things from which buying doesn’t just fill the stomach. The heart feels the fullest.

Let’s stop by markets. I have no doubt there are many like him, who wander through the woods not just for a walk.

V.