King's Daughter's Kitchen

At night my street is dark and silent except for the occasional faraway rhythmic clackity-clack of a train passing through the other side of town. I do my best cooking in the dark. Mr. Ernie’s water fountain glows across the street, red, green, blue, lighting my front window. I am in the kitchen this night, doing what I love most, cooking, this time for other people.

The family in the corner green house is sick. Mom and sister went to the hospital yesterday in respiratory distress. The neighborhood is pitching in for awhile.

I have finished making some cinnamon pancakes. The vegetable soup is bubbling on the back burner. Knotted bread is cooling on the counter wrapped in a clean towel. Now, I am making a ball jar of cough tea. My kitchen smells of cinnamon, soup broth, and  tea makings- eucalyptus, the woodsy scent of slippery elm, thyme, ginger, turmeric, and licorice root. I’m careful mixing. Don’t want the turmeric to stain my counters yellow-orange. I seal in the tea’s scent with the jar lid and ring. Then, I turn off the burner on the soup. When the sun comes up in a bit, I’ll text the family to be sure someone’s awake. Then the next door neighbor lady will help me to carry the goodies across the street. My next door neighbor is an early morning person. I am definitely not. For me, good stuff happens in the dark.