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.