We walked everywhere as kids.
Mom didn’t drive
so our options were limited.
We walked up and down the busy at times streets.
Cars whizzed by.
The blaring sirens of firetrucks and ambulances.
The familiar thud as car tires ran over a dipped manhole cover.
I don’t remember why we were in Wescott.
There was no bus route or a friend’s house to visit.
Then I discovered a bakery.
I could smell the fresh loaves of bread long before we crossed the threshold.
My stomach growled, wanting to gobble the aroma that danced and swirled around my nostrils.
Did we go in?
Did we buy a prized loaf?
I don’t remember eating the fresh bread,
just the aromas lingering as we walked by.
A secret bakery, no longer hidden from our path.
Sweet, fresh, warm, beckoning us all inside
for a bit a reprieve
from the walking, how our legs would sometimes ache.
And our stomachs’ noise matched our longing.
A childhood memory,
forever etched in my mind
of a long gone bakery of decades past.
Published by Healing Insights with Jen
I share my stories honestly as an attempt to find meaning and connection. My intention is that by sharing our stories we ultimately heal ourselves and the world. I want to be a beacon of light to show that it is possible to find your footing and inner strength even when the world seems to be in chaos.
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