Little things

Little things, morning things: the sun coming through the window in that light that is almost the colour of a ripe peach, and the dust motes dancing in it, and under your hands the dough binding together. And then there is bread for breakfast, hollow-sounding as you rap the hot floured base of your freshly baked loaf with your knuckles.
- from Midnight Chicken (& Other Recipes Worth Living For) by Ella Risbridger