Fresh, hot bakery goods are carefully and delicately taken out of steaming ovens. It is agony to smell their sweet, rich smells – sometimes chocolate, sometimes cinnamon – and wait for them to cool before cutting into them. I love the freshness of a cookie that crumbles, or a piece of cake that falls apart, or a brownie that melts in your mouth creating molten chocolate lava and suddenly I am as important as the Earth spinning on its access, axis. I am rich and filled with chocolate history. Cocoa powder and sugar. Enough to make your eyes roll into the back of your end, your head in dessert-induced ecstasy. Crumbling coffee cake. Cookie dunked in milk, or better yet, coffee. I shotgun the crumbs in tribute. Cutting into an apple crisp on a cool fall day, watching delicate, soft whipped cream or vanilla ice cream melt into little pools of white divinity, melding with the cinnamon steeped juices of the apple. These are days that are usually forgotten the farther away they are. Right now we are in the throes of a cool spring and am I sleepy and craving heat, warmth. Putting my hands up by the oven to warm them up.
Sand castles, wet. crumble when kicked.
