Grandma's Soup

When I open the door, I smell ginger and chicken.

Grandma is standing by the stove, and her old pot is singing softly.

She smiles and says, "You came at the right time." I sit down at the small table near the window.

The soup is hot, with carrots and soft rice inside.

After the first spoon, I close my eyes.

Suddenly I am six years old again, sitting on her lap in winter.

She tells me stories while the soup cooks slowly.

Now I live far away, but this taste brings her house back to me.

I finish the bowl and feel warm, like a child again.