"You know," she said "baking should be on prescription."
Absolutely I nodded. Wise woman.
Life can be desperately cruel. Brutal in ways that viscerally shock, numb and wring out a soul. It should never be allowed. If only a wall...or a shimmery bubble perhaps, could encapsulate all you hold dear and hold back the arbitrary viciousness of It.
"But what can you do..." A breath. A shrug.
The stove is warm. The recipe known. The swirls and swoops, scoops and tips familiar and meditative. Escaping for this short time into scents and millilitres.
I bake for you and with you, my friend.