I don't remember how old I was when my grandmother lulled me to sleep in a field of wild madders*, bees, buzzing and swaying in front of our house. I remember feeling dizzy from the sweet smell, a light breeze touching my forehead and small insects tickling my back. When I awoke, something had changed. Something had got under my skin and is still part of me now. At night and in the wintertime, I always remember that fragrant afternoon, the beautiful, painfully short northern summer and the honey from the wild madders.
*MADARA (Gallium mollugo) is a Latvian name for wild madders, one of the most common inhabitants of the Baltic meadows.