Perhaps they just need a second chance.
Scoffing at myself, I grabbed a spoon and searched the bottom of the bowl. Slowly, slowly I filled the holder on top and then dumped the hard kernels back in. It took awhile, because the kernels hid, hiding their shame under their brothers and sisters that did it right the first time. Perhaps they cowered, rolling away from my spoon, fearing a lecture on their defiance or stubbornness or brokenness. Perhaps they feared going back into the heat and turbulence, but I shut my ears to their imagined screams and heartlessly dumped them back in.
And then it happened. They popped. Slowly at first, but then the rattling stopped, the popping began and a steady stream of white poured out of the spout again. Perhaps all they needed was a second chance.
Why does that sound so familiar?
Linking my whimsy for somewhere it is Thursday,