home cooked rice on a cold morning

⋆ ✴︎˚｡ home, once again

nothing anchors the soul like home cooked rice on a cold morning.

pictures of rice. that i took. on a morning. it was a cold one.

breakfast has become an afterthought, something wrapped in plastic, eaten in the car, or forgotten altogether. but rice does not shout. it does not boast or flash. it waits, patient, softening slowly in water. it invites us to do the same. there is something oh so sacred in the way it steams, the way the grains rise and separate, the way it smells like warm grace caressing the palate.

to wake up one day in the cold, lonely, forenoons with rice awaiting in the kitchen is a warm embrace waiting to be shared.

rice wine

by h hunt