sometimes there is just no sleep.
sometimes there is too much in your heavy heart.
sometimes the only way through is activity.
in those times, the kitchen at night, can be a place of great solace.
life can be measured out in so many ways...measuring cups of vanilla scented sugar, spoons of cocoa and sticks of butter. sometimes it is broken hearts.
...and perhaps when we feel our oldest, we are truly at our youngest still shocked at how brutal it all can be, with acidic swiftness.
it is then, by drawing your recipes about you like shreds of certainty, replete with calm, methodical predictability, we busy ourselves with measuring, tipping, blending and swooping. only then can you let your mind wander, knowing you have the strong leash of a recipe's directions to pull it right back when it has lost itself amongst the brambles of a fearful thought.
kitchen utensils seems to emanate a friendly loyalty. purposeful and familiar. with the oven warm and scents of molten chocolate, a pause in the soft glow, feels safer.
for you are sure, despite the viciousness, that love goes on.
in many forms.
x
3 comments:
I loved this & how you had written it, hello strangely reassuring story that paints pictures of reality! I too have been known to be a night time baker & relate to how processes & tools can seem so forgiving & almost loyal, when heads are not! x
you, busy busy in the nightime kitchen. It is so often how i think of you. I am not a nightime baker - my kitchen is not big enough for a soft chair xxx
It is at night time that the universe shrinks round a kitchen making it and you feel cocooned, silently padding around.
I could imagine hands round warm cups and almost whispered conversations and the smell, the smell.
xxx
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