THE BASKET

In the shadow, at my feet she left a basket; then she went to hoe in the field nearby.
She was working hard, her sweat glinted on her front and the sun didn´t have mercy that afternoon.
After some time she came back to the basket. Its content was moving, it was wrapped in white sheet; she sitted, she opened her blouse and took it to her breast.
That very day I learned how gorgeous a mother looks.

(The Olive Tree Tales)