Adventure does not always necessitate leaving home. Sometimes finding magic means discovering you had nutella left in your kitchen or finding lost coins in old winter coats. Today, magic was spelled W-A-F-F-L-E-S. Lingering in the luxury of waking up slowly I looked out of my window and the clouds dancing across the sky reminded me of whipped cream somehow. That, or maybe I was simply reminded that I had picked up the item up during the week as a just-in-case with no real goal in mind.
I think the iron and I might need to spend some more quality time together before a final verdict is made though. With music on shuffle the iron and I struggled along and with flour, butter and whipped cream finally produced around seven perfectly decent waffles. Sitting down to eat, I looked at the tower in front of me and thought nervously that I hope I don’t die from this. You know, death is a definite side-effect of bad food. Scientifically proven and everything. I’m not being dramatic at all.
This little piece of every day magic didn’t seem to bring death in its wake though and I survived the first bite. And the second. Crossing my fingers that I will survive all the rest to. Starting the week with a little love from food, imperfect and messy like every relationship, allowed this slow morning to stretch the minutes. It tastes a little like childhood and first tries and sweetness.
The crown on the head of morning as we run around, hoping not to have left anything behind.