Food For Thought Poem - The Recipe For Magic

It was midday and memories rose in the kitchen like the bread in the oven. Lynn pressed her palms against the soap gently, feeling the summer breeze and the smells of the street file in softly, the winds of the sky brushing against her cheeks. With it came the scents of all the Breéil treats; frosted cookies, round cakes, and more.

As Lynn turned the water off, and dried her hands, she could begin to smell the familiar scent of lemon bread fill the kitchen. It stirred inside her a voice, a sight, a warmth from the distant past. Memories floated in on a wave of grief and light. They came in flashes:

Playing in the faraway golden fields of Soleil.

It was a memory, quick and light.

A woman laughing sweetly, helping a younger self reach the counter.

It rode in on lemon and bread.

The lovely sound of the woman's gentle voice, how she braided Lynn's hair. The sound of 'Mom' on Lynn's tongue.

It was a memory, quick and light.

Until the sound of children playing in the street lifted her away. She watched them play magic, a game, a fantasy of men. A long lost dream among them all, once real now only among the stars and small precious things.

Lynn considered it for a moment. What had Wilson, the outsider from last night, said? He was searching for magic. Foolish. He was brewing, stirring the waters, searching for the light in the murky cauldron. The kitchen girl snorted, she knew better. How could there possibly be a strategy to summoning magic of any kind. 

Magic, if desired, was a delicate but powerful thing. If there was a recipe for it... Well, it would be quite a task. It required courage, and no small amount of charm. But it also required pain, and release. The recipe demanded moonlilies and sweet scented candles. Or roses covered in ash. Maps, an owl's feather, and jars full of starlight.

If there was a recipe for it. Well... one would need honey, and cinnamon. One would need to go to the back of a cave and wait for the light to filter in through the cracks of the rocks. Then steal that drop of sun. The recipe would call for lavender and dreams. Elvish arrows, and childish things. Lynn grinned softly, looking up towards the chimneys across the street, the brick walls where ivy leaves trailed down the side of houses. One would need... "Hope."

"Hmm?"A voice pulled her from her thoughts. She turned around quickly, finding the boy from the marketplace last night in the doorway. Her eyes opened wide. He hadn't heard her, had he?