Stale

Stale

Grace Burdick

I bit into a slice of honey toast this morning. As it settled in my stomach, it felt like a stone and all
sweetness of the initial taste left my memory.

I had been anticipating this bite since I bought the sourdough loaf two days ago. But it fell flat like a black key and with it the hope for a well digested breakfast.

Perhaps it is the longing that brings a staleness to my days. The reason I stand up to leave almost as soon as I settle, leaving just two lines written underneath the day’s date.

But I remember the myriad of colors across the horizon and the sun’s rising stirred and settle my heart all at once. I know fullness because I woke to see it every morning.

I remember, too, the wind sweeping my hair and clothes every which way. The deep clouds met the sun on the mountain top where I stood, producing mist and a prism in the sky.

I am a dry well, emptied of words and a chasm of longing. Longing to settle, to be quiet again in the presence of the beautiful; to flow through my days.

Bread is only stale if you have known the taste of a freshly baked loaf. I know fullness of heart because of its absence.

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Grace Burdick
Writer & Photographer

Grace has been published in Darling Magazine and in Hope College’s literary and arts magazine, Opus. You can find more of her work at gatheringrosemary.com.

Photography by Zoe Imd