the road — October 12, 2024

October 12, 2024. Field note from the road.

The kitchen smells like autumn before I name it. A tall steel pot on the black glass cooktop, sliced apples gone soft and pale gold, the liquid working in slow bubbles. Lid set aside, upside down, the way you do when you mean to come back.

One thing I keep relearning on the road: a rolling boil is not the same as a slow simmer. Boiling tears fruit apart; simmering coaxes it open. Same heat source, different intention.

Think of it like a forest in fog versus a forest in wind. Both move. Only one keeps its shape.

I turned the burner down, pulled up a chair, and let the afternoon take as long as it wanted.