Oktobar u majčinoj avliji_October in My Mother’s Courtyard
- Smiki's Corner
- Oct 31
- 3 min read
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Tihi oktobarski dani na majčinoj slavi
Bili su to oni tihi, sunčani oktobarski dani kad se išlo majci na slavu. Vazduh je bio mekan, pun mirisa pečenih paprika i suvog lišća koje šušti pod nogama. Avlija bi bila obučena u najlepše boje jeseni, zlatnu, narandžastu i onu duboku crvenu koja miriše na zrelost i spokoj.
Paradajzi kraj kuhinjskog prozora
Čak su i majkini paradajzi, oni što su rasli pored zida kuće, stigli do samog prozora kuhinje. Lako bi ih dohvatila kroz okno dok kuva, crveni, topli od sunca, puni onog starinskog ukusa koji više ne nalazim nigde.
Pričala sam vam već o njima, o tim paradajzima što su mirisali na ljubav, strpljenje i ruke koje su znale da neguju svaku biljku kao dete. Peta je godina otkako majke više nema a ja i dalje sadim njene avlijske paradajze. I svake jeseni, kad ih uberem, miris me vrati tamo, u dvorište puno boja, u njen zagrljaj i osmeh koji još uvek nose toplinu oktobarskog sunca.
Poslednja jesen zajedno
A pamtim i poslednju jesen provedenu sa roditeljima i sestrom, u istoj toj avliji. Miris dima zapaljenog lišća dizao se visoko, mešao se sa vazduhom i donosio onu tihu setu jeseni. Pored starog Kramer traktora, u maloj prikolici čije je dno bilo prekriveno suvim lišćem, bacale smo lišće uvis i smijale se, isto onako kako smo se smijale kad smo bile deca.
Stari limeni tanjir
Stari limeni tanjir i dalje je stajao tamo, izgreban od vremena, nežno položen na travu, tih svedok svih naših jeseni i onih koje su prošle, i onih koje se vraćaju u sećanjima, svaki put kad oktobar ponovo zamiriše na dom.
Oktobar u mom vrtu
Danas, kad oktobar ponovo donese svoje blage dane i zlatne popodneve, u mom vrtu i dalje rastu majkini paradajzi. I kad ih uberem, zatvorim oči i na trenutak osetim isti miris, onaj koji me vrati kući, u avliju mog detinjstva. Jer neki mirisi ne blede, samo promene adresu.
October in My Mother’s Courtyard
They were those quiet, sunlit October days when we would go to my mother’s for her slava. The air was soft, carrying the scent of roasted peppers and dry leaves rustling underfoot. The courtyard would dress itself in autumn’s finest gold, amber and that deep red that smells of ripeness and calm.
Tomatoes by the Kitchen Window
Even my mother’s tomatoes, the ones that grew along the wall of the house, had reached up to the kitchen window. She could easily pick them through the open window red, sun warmed and full of that old-fashioned flavour you can’t find anywhere anymore.
I’ve told you about them before those tomatoes that smelled of love, patience and hands that knew how to nurture every plant as if it were a child. It’s been five years since my mother left us, yet I still grow her courtyard tomatoes. And every autumn, when I pick them, their scent takes me back to that garden of colours, to her smile and embrace, still carrying the warmth of the October sun.
The Last Autumn Together
I also remember the last autumn we spent together, my parents, my sister and I in that same courtyard. The scent of smoke from the burning leaves rose into the crisp air, blending with that gentle melancholy only autumn brings. By the old Kramer tractor, in the little trailer lined with dry leaves, we threw them into the air and laughed just as we did when we were children.
The Old Tin Plate
The old plate still rested there, scratched by time, lying gently on the grass a quiet witness to all our autumns, carrying stories of laughter, love and memories that never fade. I took it with me and today, as I tell stories to my grandchildren, it sits before me, connecting the past with the present.
October in My Own Garden
Now, when October comes with its soft days and golden afternoons, the tomatoes I planted in my own garden have long been harvested. Yet, when I close my eyes, I am instantly transported back to my mother’s courtyard, filled with colour, laughter and the warmth of her hands. Some scents never fade they simply change their address.
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