The Daisy Army

Malu loved running across the meadow strewn with daisies. She would race down the sloping field, as if those daisies were an army, an army defending summer vacations and freedom…

Then she would run toward the river, where she cooled her feet. The river was clear and sparkling, murmuring pleasantly, as if playing a magical instrument. She rested there for a while, then climbed her favorite hill, where she delighted in the most beautiful views.

On her way home, she stopped by the bakery in the village center, where a wonderful aroma wafted out. She bought a bun there, passed through the neighbor’s yard to glance at the yellow chicks — which especially delighted her — and upon returning home, handed her grandmother the daisies she had picked.

That’s why Malu loved summer — only during summer vacations did she have the chance to fully enjoy the daisy-covered meadows and the buns, which, in her opinion, were the tastiest in the world. Even if she didn’t buy a bun, the bakery’s scent brought her such joy that she often passed by it.

She loved the pattering summer rain, the raindrops that wet the hot earth, and the strange smell that lingered in the air, the views from the hill that even a century wouldn’t be enough to fully savor — especially with the pleasant sound of the river in the background.

But the most important thing was her grandmother — the warmest and kindest, who crowned it all.

Malu wondered why she couldn’t live in this village, where everything she loved was: daisies in the summer, snow-covered hills perfect for sledding in the winter, delicious fruits in the fall, and pristine greenery and the scent of flowers in the spring.

Whenever she asked, “Why?” the answer was always the same: “In the city, there are the best schools and more opportunities for growth — that’s what your future needs.”

Were there no daisies in the city? There were, but in flower shops — lifeless, colorless, almost invisible to Malu. On the village meadows, the daisies seemed to call her name and beckon her to them.

There were bakeries in the city, many of them, but they didn’t have the same scent as the village bakery. If they did, it mingled with the smell of exhaust fumes and city dust, hardly stirring the appetite.

There were restaurants too, but nowhere could she find dishes as delicious as those her grandmother made.

Instead of hills, the city had tall buildings with views, but could they compare to the panorama from the village hill?

The end of every vacation was hard for Malu; parting with the village was painful. She always wished her parents would delay their return to the city as long as possible.

Years passed. Malu became a grown, successful woman. She had two children, a loving husband, loyal friends she met from time to time to open her heart to, and a good job where she achieved greater success day by day.

She worked hard, outpacing everyone, and soon expected a promotion, as if all that effort was worth it, despite the exhaustion and lack of time.

Now Malu took her children to the village, to their grandmother. Her own grandmother was gone, but her mother had become a grandmother. When vacations ended, her children felt the same pain of parting with the village that she once did.

It was astonishing, but Malu never recalled those feelings — not even when her children experienced the same emotions at the end of their vacations.

One morning, Malu got ready earlier than usual because she discovered the night before that they had run out of coffee beans at home.

Usually, her husband or older daughter noticed this in time, but her husband was away on a business trip in another city, and the children were in the village.

Starting the day and working without coffee was difficult for her. She decided to stop by a café on her way to work.

At the café near her home, she found a long line. “Did everyone run out of coffee today?” she thought, irritated. She decided to look for coffee at a café near her workplace.

She quickened her pace but suddenly stopped in her tracks, as if frozen. She took a deep breath and held it, as if wanting to preserve forever the familiar scent that lingered in the air.

It was the smell of buns — the smell she remembered from childhood.

She breathed in deeply a few more times, shifted her gaze to the side, and stood stunned. Next to the bakery, from which the scent wafted, was a flower shop.

In front of it were countless bouquets, including daisies. Before her eyes appeared the daisy-covered meadow, the views from the hill, the village center, the neighbor’s yellow chicks. She could almost hear the sound of the river.

She stood petrified. Neither the scent of coffee from passersby’s cups, nor the pain from being stepped on by strangers, nor their harsh words for blocking the path brought her back to reality.

Her expression changed. She turned toward home, pulled out her phone, called work, and informed them that due to an urgent matter, she wouldn’t be able to come in for a few days.

She sent a message to her friends, apologizing that she couldn’t make it to the planned evening meeting.

She ran home, packed a few clothes in a bag, and…

She set off to the daisy army, to feel safe for a while. She wanted to savor the familiar, though forgotten, views and hear the magical music of the river.

Her grandmother was no longer there, but she hoped the buns were still as delicious and carried the same scent, that the neighbor still had chicks — just as cheerful, yellow, and numerous as before — and that it might even rain.

Malu sets off from the future… to reconcile her present with her past.