Episode 3: from the heart of small, spring scented kitchen

It was a cloudy and beautiful day. A cool breeze moved through the room. The scent of the garden beyond the window filled the air with the freshness of spring. In front of the tall window, stood a kitchen; small, but full of charm.

The kitchen was lit by northern light and, at first glance, looked colorful and soothing. The back wall was painted in a calm cream color. To the right, a wall in soft peach sat quietly, and to the left, a wooden staircase painted in soft green framed the room.

Above, cream-colored beams stretched across. The brightness of the ceiling made the room look higher than it really was, adding a sense of openness to the small space. Underneath, the kitchen floor was covered in terracotta tiles—dark and light, a little rough, and pleasantly cool. Sunlight played across the tiles, soothing, like the gentle movement of water in a small stream.

The kitchen had no wall cabinets; only a few base cabinets, like small sculptures, lined up against the back wall. They were milky in color, with delicate details. Their arched bases lifted them lightly off the ground, and their brass handles gave a familiar feeling. On top of the cabinets sat a lovely warm oak countertop.

The walls, free from heaviness, were decorated only with a brass wall light, and a few paintings. Beneath the glow of the light, sat two paintings, of some sunny shores. Simple, yet full of life. Their lively blues carried the sound and scent of the sea.

In the middle of the room stood a small table and two wooden chairs. A delicate, white tablecloth lay across the table, slowly moving under the gentle breeze. on it sat a white china vase, tall and slender, filled with large blooms: yellow and blue, pink and violet. The sweet fragrance of flowers filled the kitchen. The table and chairs seemed to be inviting you to daydream.

The room was full of objects, each telling its own story: a four-burner white stove, a small cream fridge, an old ceramic sink, brass and china candlesticks, glass tumblers, and woven baskets.

In that room, you wanted to wake up a little earlier in the mornings, sit by the table, look out at the garden, and sip your coffee slowly. And at night, perhaps, with a fresh cup of tea, you could sit under the flickering glow of candles and the wall light, and savor life.

That was not merely a room for cooking; it was part of the lived experience of the house. And that, more than anything, made it beautiful.