Oh, I know exactly what’s going on here. My brain has gone rogue.
Maybe it’s because I’m on a diet—avoiding carbs, sugar, joy, and apparently the will to live. Or maybe it’s simply because I love to eat with the enthusiasm of a Labrador who just discovered the concept of unattended sandwiches. But whatever the cause, I feel the need to confess something troubling:
A snow-covered rock made me think of cream cheese frosting.
Not “sort of.”
Not “in passing.”
I mean full-on, bakery-window, pressed-nose-to-the-glass, call-the-doctor level thinking.
In my defense, the snow had that glossy, glazed look—like it had been professionally styled by the Cake Boss. A little sun. A little melt. An overnight freeze.
Wash.
Dry.
Repeat.
And suddenly Mother Nature had produced what can only be described as an artisanal, farm-to-table, gluten-free boulder cupcake.
I tried to focus on the two brants feeding nearby—majestic, wild creatures doing important bird things—but all I could see was a perfectly iced dessert sitting there, silently judging me. I swear I heard it whisper, “You deserve a slice. Maybe two. Don’t tell the scale.”
The entire walk through Sachuest Point became a moving meditation on baked goods. Deer were nibbling winter buds, and I thought, “Those look like sprinkles.” Mockingbirds were mocking me, and honestly, I felt it was personal. People strolled past enjoying nature, while I was mentally opening a bakery franchise.
“Beautiful day,” someone said.
“YES, BUT HAVE YOU CONSIDERED LAYER CAKE?” my soul replied.
Even the temperature betrayed me. A balmy 32 degrees after the recent cold snap. Warm enough to enjoy the outdoors. Warm enough to imagine the cream cheese frosting softening slightly on top of a rich chocolate cake. Warm enough to start planning a future where I live inside a Pillsbury commercial.
I tried to be present. I really did. I breathed the salty air. I admired the ocean. I listened to the gulls.
And then my brain said, “You know what would go great with this scenery? A fork.”
By the time I finished the loop, I had mentally baked three cakes, opened a café, and named the rock “Sir Frostington of Deliciousshire.”
So if you see a man at the refuge staring lovingly at geology, don’t worry. I’m fine.
I’m just thinking cake again.
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