Time.

At this time of year, I could swear the quality of light changes as well as the time spent in it.

When I wake up at seven, it’s still a little dark out. My clock says it’s one time and my body says it’s another. The attic bedroom I sleep in is a little warmer these mornings. The floor isn’t as cold and the cat doesn’t feel the need to snuggle as much as he used to. The time is changing.

I make a big batch of granola once or twice a week. Oats, oat bran and maple syrup (dark of course). A little bit of oil to help toast the oats and give them colour. Coconut and warming spices like cinnamon and allspice. Sometimes cardamom if I’m in the mood. After it’s cooked in the oven – making sure to stir it well halfway through so that nothing scorches – I let it cool slightly before I add dried fruits. The cranberries I bought, but I dried the apples last fall, bags upon bags of them. There are shreds of sweet quince leather, an entire day’s work, mixed in as well. But today, I don’t want to eat my usual wintry breakfast. Even though these are the last of the blood oranges I will see this season, I’m tired of citrus. The season is changing.

It used to be that David would come home around 6, and it would be very dark outside. I would be making dinner and I would know he’s home  because the cat has lunged for the door. We say hello, kiss and I go back to finishing dinner. But tonight it’s almost seven, and the sun is directly above the horizon and shining into the kitchen. The time has changed.

There are little bits of fall and summer that need to be eaten and remembered stored in my freezer. Fourteen pounds of apples that need to be used up and made into something. There are blueberries from the summer that have little ice crystals on them that tell me they need to be added to something before they taste freezer burnt. There’s a chicken carcass in there too, so I’ll make stock on the weekend, when I can let it simmer slowly. Dave will complain about the house smelling like it’s made out of chicken soup before company comes over. The seasons are about to change.

Sitting at the kitchen table, I go through my cookbooks and my lists of things to do and make. The sun hasn’t set yet. I can’t see it anymore, it’s hidden behind the neighbour’s roof across the street. It’s almost 7:30 and only now is it dark. Time has changed.

Advertisements