I breathe.
This feeling of calm is elusive and will not last.
I measure my ingredients, and under the whir of the mixer's motor I can feel my heart grow lighter as the batter is whipped and beaten to smoothness.
Carefully the apples are chopped. I inhale deeply the smell of cinnamon and the sweetness of sugar. The lightness of being as I pour the cake batter into the pan and place it into the oven is as ephemeral as everything else.
The finished cake is brought out to cool, and I linger in the kitchen for a moment, surrounded by the warmth of the oven and the scent of cinnamon and apples. It feels good to be creating again.
I breathe.
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