Write About It

by Agnieszka Wolsoncroft Anya with all the pums, ready to learn how to bake the plum cake #plumcake #plums #autumn #baking #lovebaking I was six years old, standing on a Polish beach, watching the Baltic Sea stretch endlessly. My mother stood beside me, quiet. The wind whipped our hair. Salt spray touched my face. "What's on the other side?" I asked. "Sweden," she said. "And beyond that, the whole world." I didn't know what Sweden looked like. Didn't know what "the whole worl

by Agnieszka Wolsoncroft     Thursday last week marked three years since my Babcia left us.   I was walking through a shopping centre on an ordinary Sunday when I felt it.   A heat wave, sudden and complete, moving through my whole body. Not a hot flush. Not a dizzy spell. Something else entirely—a warmth that felt like arms around me, like someone pressing their cheek to mine the way she always had.   I remember thinking: this is not a good day for shopping. I'll go home.