Daydreams are always better when your eyes are closed. When you let your mind spin off in an imaginative road not taken and curl up sideways under a soft blanket as you succumb to the fuzzy warmth of perfection created in your mind, time slips away like air through an open window.
Somehow, I have let myself get caught in a never-ending daydream, where I can see future and past spread around me like a field of flowers in a painting. And in this imaginary space, with this imaginary future, I see everything as it could be, years and years down the road.
I was baking bread yesterday, and as I mixed the biga into the dough, I could hear myself teaching my future daughter to do the same thing. "We make this little bit of dough ahead of time, so that it has better flavor. Then we let it sit in the fridge so it develops slowly, because the slower we take it, the better it tastes and the sweeter the bread in the end." And it seems that I am telling her, this daughter of mine that does not exist yet, about bread but also about life, about good things that grow slowly with time, that develop and mature and start from bare ingredients but transform into something substantive and nourishing.