#struggling with writer block and a lack of motivation on the word smithing front >-<

[monsterfloofs]

A handcrafted clay bowl, dark red and glossy in it’s beautiful imperfection, filled to the brim with apples. As a pair of unsteady hands slowly become more seasoned on using a knife to pair the apple’s red speckled skin from its creamy underbelly. As the flakes of skin are sliced away, fingers shift to place the bare fruit against a wooden board. The quiet snick of metal against an old cutting board is a distinctive noise against the crickets that chirp outside. A quiet hum of outside sounds, that is a soft murmur that floats into the small cramped kitchen space.

The call of a crow overhead causes the apple peeler to pause their work and listen. Their hand is beginning to ache from straining muscles they previously didn’t know existed.

Apples sliced.

Apples diced.

The pieces dropped into a large pot to boil, with water, brown sugar and spices. A timer is set and it is left to cook quietly.

Attention turning to a tea kettle that begins to whisper merrily with plumes of steam, until the fire is switched off.

A cup of hot water is ceremoniously poured over a tea bag and a pool of honey at the bottom of the mug.

Settling down to a rectangular table covered with a tablecloth that sat just outside of the kitchen. The connecting room having big sunlit windows, to look out at the back porch and watch the field of warm grass.