Someone Else’s Kitchen

I was visiting some friends yesterday morning.

There were peaches in boxes on the diningroom sideboard, waiting to be processed.  There were jars of freshly canned peaches on the kitchen counter.  There was bread rising in pans beside the stove.  There was basil drying in the oven.  There were trays of freshly flaked oats on the top of the fridge.  There was fresh coffee in the French press.

I suddenly discovered, in someone else’s kitchen, that I was at home.

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