We do not remember days, we remember moments.
Or maybe there are moments that reappear in our memory, evoked by elements of our present, such as sounds, voices, perfumes ...


I learned how to make authentic strudel from my maternal grandmother, who, in turn, had learned how to make it from my grandfather, who was born in Bohemia and raised in Austria.
The unique scent of a freshly baked strudel, a subtle mix of sultana raisins, apples, cinnamon and icing sugar, always makes me remember my grandparents and the remote days spent in their cosy kitchen.

Today I gave myself some of these dear memories, as well as the pleasure I got from a rich slice of strudel, accompanied by a cup of coffee.
As we turn down the light each night... May we have some little memory to mark the day.

Every day, during this month of September, I will try to share with the visitors of this photo gallery some pictures and some little stories of my daily life.
In case you are curious to also see the images of the previous days, instead of taking a look only at the most recently posted photo