Through each crunch, my tongue tastes sweet ginger and strong molasses, until the cookie has dissolved in my mouth. I reach for another and it crumbles under the weight of my teeth as my jaw clamps shut. Again, another enters its doom to be tasted, weighted, measured and savored as lingering ginger pieces find crevasses amongst small white bones. My tea rests in it’s steaming brewed bath, I gander at it for a moment, then find another cookie. This time I slide the hard ginger shell into the tea for a few seconds and rush it between my lips before any trace of it falls to the surface below.
A chill rides its way upon a gust of wind, giving me goosebumps, I look up to see the sun slowly falling beyond the horizon. I take a sip of tea, my body absorbing the heat as it slips down my throat emptying into my belly. I reach again for a cookie, promising my self-control this will be my last, it again becomes nothing. Eyeing the lid, wishing someone would cap the bucket of goodness, I find my arm reaching across; they beckon me. My self-control has lost this battle, at least until my tea runs dry.