Cookie Town

PHILADELPHIA, PA — I sit at a cafe table, alone, looking across the intersection. Sunlight trickles through leaves to warm the salmon bricks of rowhomes’ southern faces. Like my own, they crack a smile in the pure, animating rays—receiving them with gladness.

House sparrows hop among branches. A cool breeze, conjured amidst the alternating sun and shade, vivifies the trees, who seem to pass their springy energy along their long, supple limbs directly into the little birds themselves.

It is a quintessential day in Philadelphia: every corner is active but tranquil. Parties of friends, families, and new lovers amble from farmers market to cafe and back again.

It is in this pool of activity that sit, again alone, but comfortable. I am riding the ripples of activity that flow to me and back out again. I enjoy the tilts and bobs that generate a meditative rhythm, keeping my mind trained on the peaceful energy of this moment. 

But this replay of halcyon days also carries a saccharine bite. Like a dessert from some faded Italian bakery, who over years of repetition, produce confections of edible nostalgia, its singular hollow note reminds me of a former time when this simple recipe was sufficient.

I need something radically new, though these old patterns still serve as a comfort. I need a chocolate chip rye cookie with some salt sprinkled on top. 9/10