Walk in the Woods

Abstraction Nik Curfman Abstraction Nik Curfman

Abstraction: Perfect Cookies

In a panic, she flung open the oven door and yanked the hot sheet from the rack. Of course, she was right! One cookie was starting to turn black, while another still raw. The flaws of this latest attempt too great to bare.


The air in the kitchen was laden with the scent of dark chocolate, brown sugar, and melted butter. In her heart she knew, this was the batch. Her long awaited perfection. The bake to end all bakes. No more tears or failure she thought. This is gonna be it.

As time passed a crowd gathered, and her pulse raced. A dozen tiny voices began to ask the questions she long tried to ignore.

What if she burnt the cookies, or they were too sweet, or bitter? Did she remember the baking soda? What would her mother say? Did she even like chocolate chip cookies? What about her fellow baker’s and her former life? What would become of her if she did bake the perfect cookie?

Suddenly her nose caught the scent of something off. She couldn’t be sure, but the longer she stood frozen next to the oven, she convinced herself. She made a mistake. Somewhere in the prep, perhaps the baking, but along the way she f*cked up.

In a panic, she flung open the oven door and yanked the hot sheet from the rack. Of course, she was right! One cookie was starting to turn black, while another still raw.

Tears filled her heart, and she had neither the wisdom or the ability to find the good in this batch. The flaws of her latest attempt too great to bare. Without a taste, she carefully slid her latest effort into the trash heap. The voices applauded her bravery, so why was she ashamed?

The thin baker turned to begin again.

Perfection, her ideal and her burden, keeps her hungry and starved. Alone and afraid. Always baking, never eating the fruits of her labor. Always perfecting, never grateful for the goodness at hand. Always wishing, never enjoying the cookies she baked.


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