Process

Kneading my fingers through the thick dough, making sure it was mixed thoroughly. That wasn't the issue, for it was mixed well enough. The feeling of the fluffy mixture between my fingers, edging into the tiny lines of my hands, and molding to perfection, that's why I kept massaging the dough.

I always enjoyed life, but I never enjoyed the small things, that later on, mean such a great deal. Why would a combination of milk, water, flour, and other ingredients mean so much to me? It's the feeling, the process.

Growing up, it was always, who could run the fastest, or reach the highest. It wasn't until recently when I picked up an old book and felt the edges of the too thin pages, that memories and thoughts bubbled inside me. This paste I'm rolling, is bringing thoughts of the process of baking, to my mind. You start out with a few ingredients, when you combine, mix, roll, rise, and bake, it turns into a filling treat. This nothing dough represents the process of things that might take a little effort, but are a good thing in the end, and also worth it.

Not too much can ruin this sweet bread. Unless you are either a jam person or a jelly person. For me, Jam. You can't go wrong with the low to none corn syrup and natural ingredients. It just adds more excitement to the jar, when seeds are spread thoughtfully throughout the container.

So why am I looking out the window and smoothing the dough still, while I'm craving the the final product? Because, while I look out the window, I see the plants, and the birds feeding their young, and the bees surrounding the sweet honeysuckles, then I realize, they are all a process. Everything grows into something bigger, and I'm just starting.