hush

There is something about the aroma of something baking on a chilly dark rainy morning that is different than how it smells on a sunny afternoon. Perhaps it’s the damp air swirling into the warm scent of what’s in the oven that makes the smell more aromatic, rich, deep, penetrating until whatever ails the soul is hushed.

It hasn’t rained in weeks. Hearing the pitter patter of drops, drinking in the fragrance that is clean rain as I turned over to meet the darkness of 5:30AM was refreshing. The evening before had left me feeling angry, I woke feeling pensive. I listened and inhaled for an hour; I needed to bake. The art of baking requires focus, patience, time, rhythm, heart, soul is melodic, is soothing. As I rose, this thought passed through my head…if more people ran to a kitchen and baked at the moment of anger, perhaps they wouldn’t pick up a gun, feel the desire to do harm.

Baking releases hostility, breaking bread is a gesture of civility.

As I absorb the warmth of apples, molasses and cinnamon wafting through my space, the hush sounds of Anouar Brahem swirling into that mix with just a touch of cool and crisp moist rain, I whisper Amen.

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