One Great Bite
by Ann Thurlow
At five in the morning, it’s tempting to go back to sleep and I do. But somewhere another woman is drowsily turning on lights and hauling out mixing bowls. I imagine her name is Sarah. In my mind’s eye, I see her in a big white apron, kneading shortening into flour, performing that strange alchemy we call baking. In a few hours, I’ll go to Kettle Black for a scone and she’ll be gone. I imagine she is exhausted from her labours. It’s her turn to sleep—mine to be surrounded by a blissful cloud of crumbs and butter.