A subdued bluish hue hums quietly outside the kitchen window. The house is still with the early morning drowsiness. The animals are sleeping. My father sits at the breakfast nook hunched over a pile of fudge he made 3 nights ago. Mom owns a small gift shop in town and dad makes fudge for her to sell in her small town store.
Sometimes he stays up late mixing all the necessary ingredients into this sweet southern confection. This morning he cuts slabs into bite size pieces. His co-workers will be handed little white boxes full of this midnight fudge.
I watch him. Watch his glasses and how they rest near the edge of his nose. Watch his face glow in the early morning light. Watch his hand and the knife it uses to slice away pieces from the whole.