The baked cookies, still warm upon a bright blue plate, are every loving hue of my sepia daydreams.
After the winters wind, as I step into my home, your home-baked cookies are the elevator of my heart.
The cookies are more peanut than flour and dotted with chocolate chips. The surface is crackled as the earth is in late summer, softly golden and awaiting the rain.
I've been eating the air as the cookies bake, the aroma bringing a hunger to me that I wasn't aware of earlier... or perhaps it's new. So I let my feet take me to the kitchen and my eyes feast on the cookies that are almost ready, they will come out soft and hot, yet in a few minutes they'll be perfection.
Baked cookies of every kind layer the bakery counter. From white chocolate and macadamia nut right through to sprouted grains and wheat germ, there really is something for everyone. Yet it isn't the "grown-up" treats that catch my eye, it's the gingerbread men and their gum-drop buttons. From this store they are a far cry from the biscuit-like ones of my youth, the ones so crunchy you could hear the bite from a block away. These ones are softer, the ginger more pronounced as as moreish as anything I've ever tasted.
Though the kitchen is just as it was when I left in the morning, spotless and bright, the aroma gives away the presence of fresh baked cookies. Before my eyes swivel around, lip gently bitten in anticipation, I know the glass jar is full and the chips are still molten. The lid rests casually next the them allowing the warm moisture to escape and right next to that is a post-it note with a single heart drawn on top.
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