I’m beginning to really find the beauty in pictures of kitchens. Like they have become my favorite. When I think of the kitchen, I think of creation. Nourishment. And laughter. It’s in the kitchen where a family is provided with meals to complete each day ahead. Man or woman, not important. In the kitchen love is being made. Whether it’s eggs and toast or white rice and corn beef. Salty chicken with burnt pasta. Lessons in mending meals are taught. Watching how cleverly the hands move and the importance of time becomes a constant. The awareness. The alerted senses that awaken. There’s a togetherness that’s sealed in the aroma of peppers sautéing. The kitchen is where life begins. It’s a purifying station. One where the water offers itself. How many times does one find themselves washing their hands and saying grace over clean food or while preparing food? Warmth of the water falling carefully between fingers and under nails. Disinfecting and cleansing. It’s an art form when in the kitchen to keep the balance of a house together. The conversations of life and love happen. They happen. These thoughts are birthed in the kitchen. Looking for wisdom the moment curiosity leaves our lips. We are searching for answers through the tears of cutting up onions. The arrival of maturation is welcomed in the kitchen because the creation of dialogue still lives amongst the clanking noises of spoons against metal pots and pans. What lies beyond the kitchen is the day ahead or the sweet dreams that are to come. It’s comforting to find love in the kitchen. I’m finding the deeper, hidden beauty in pictures of kitchens. And they are speaking ever so gently to me.

Does anyone else see it this way?

Even if not, I hope this changes the perspective of the magic that comes from kitchens.

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