The Greenhouse, 2011 © Chrissie Smolders
My grandfather has a greenhouse in his small, well-kept garden. It has a very distinct smell; every time I sneak inside it reminds me of my childhood. I would go inside and look up at the growing grapes and small, green tomatoes. The leaves would cast their shadows on me and it felt warm, damp and safe inside.
Nothing but one thing has changed over the years. Now, the grapes touch the crown of my head as I walk inside.