by Lisa Reynolds
Momma tosses flour onto the kitchen table then lifts a t-cloth off a glass bowl, exposing a slick ball of dough. As she scoops out the mound and places it in the middle of the white dust, she reminds me how small it had been.
“It takes patience to rise,” she says.
With coated hands, she kneads, while speaking of the transformation taking place.
“Humble ingredients don’t magically turn into bread. They must be combined to create a loaf that can withstand the heat of the oven.”
“Too big and the middle will be raw,” I say, “too small and it will burn.”
Momma smiles.
Our ritual continues.
“What if I stray from the recipe?” I ask.
Momma wipes her hands on her apron and says, “The adjustments you make may not give you the results you want, but you’ll learn as you go.”
Lisa Reynolds is a Canadian writer of poetry and short stories. Her works are internationally published in anthologies, literary journals, and magazines. She lives in a waterfront community east of Toronto, Ontario.
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Photo: Public Domain image, modified by Veronica McDonald.
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