My mom is the first to say she doesn’t like to bake. I’m still not sure where my
love obsession came from. Somehow my sister picked up the habit too—proof. But despite my mom’s distaste for baking, she makes a mean cobbler. In the summers it’s filled with the ripest of peaches. And through the winters it’s filled with the blackest of blackberries. Always topped with ice cream of course. This tastes like home to me.
Home. Where I returned from just days ago. Already missing the people I have known for a lifetime. I still wonder why I ever moved away. And then I’m reminded of the greedy Texas* heat that steals winter’s thunder. The heat that also leaves me grumpy for weeks on end. I’m a winter girl at heart. I still melt with every snowfall. I love it’s quiet demeanor. And the beautiful way it paints…
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