Strawberries

by Maaletti

Often, especially as a kid, when going to the dentist for example, or another painful or unpleasant situation, I had a trick. The trick was to think of my happy place.

My happy place is the strawberry fields at my grandma’s place, my mom’s childhood home.

I can almost smell the fresh, bright red, huge strawberries, the grass, the smell of my grandma’s Karelia pies in the oven, or the smell of the wood burning in the red little sauna. The sensation of jumping into the lake to cool off from the summer heat.

This is my happy place, forever.