The Railway Children

Have you ever gone into a farmhouse kitchen on a baking day, and seen the great crock of dough set by the fit to rise? If you have, and if you were at that time still young enough to be interested in everything you saw, you will remember that you found yourself quite unable to resist the temptation to poke your finger into the soft round dough that curved inside the pan like a giant mushroom. And you will remember that your finger made a dent on the dough, and that slowly, but quite surely, the deny disappeared, and the dough looked quite the same as it did before you touched it. Unless of cos, your hand was extra dirty in which case, naturally there would be a little black mark.

Well, it was just like that with the sorrow the children had felt at Father's going away, and at Mother's being so unhappy. It made a deep impression, but the impression did not last long.

Taken from The Railway Children, by E. Nesbit.

I haven't been able to write in a while - it feels as if an important part of me has been taken away.

I'm kind of missing the warmth in Urakawa. Somehow, it always seems easier with strangers.