arqios

baker’s gift

 

In friendship,  
it’s the extra call late at night,  
the remembered laugh from years ago—  
something unasked, freely given.  

In service,  
it’s the coffee shop adding a biscuit,  
the mechanic wiping the corners of the window  
without a word,  
small touches we barely notice,  
yet carry home.  

In art,  
it’s the brushstroke tucked into the corner,  
a detail only the painter knows is there.  
It’s the verse that wasn’t needed,  
but stayed anyway.  

In learning,  
it’s the teacher who lingers after the bell—  
a moment longer,  
just to see you understand.  

In kindness,  
it’s the smile, the patient pause,  
when the world might pass someone by.  

In care,  
it’s choosing the second blanket on a cold night,  
the last slice saved for someone else,  
the small, quiet gifts  
that never ask for thanks.  

A baker’s dozen  
is more than thirteen.  
It’s the measure of giving  
without counting.