So Much Depends on a Batch of Pancakes

On the passing of time and this moment being every moment

It’s a Saturday morning, one of these slow November days, when the bright almost-winter sunshine glares off the frosty carpet of leaves and the sky is an icy blue and the clouds are all huge and harmless. Cold air pushes through the edges of the door. Thanksgiving is nearly here.

I meander into the kitchen and our two Littles are asking for a late break…