The raindrops patter softly against the bedroom window.
The rhythm of this early morning shower is the first thing Lily hears as her mind drifts from dreams to wakefulness.
She listens to every drop as it bursts gently on the glass.
One by one,
She counts them until there are too many to follow.
So instead,
She lets her mind wander as they all flow together,
Like grains of rice poured into a jar.
This is the music of the season,
She thinks.
The rap of the rain and the timid rustle of leaves on branches.
She smiles,
Picturing the beauty of the autumn colors and the gradual wrapping up of the year.
Lily yawns and stretches her arms out over her head.
Darkness still lingers outside,
But it's time for her to get up.
Soon,
She'll put on her hat and coat and walk down to her bakery to prepare for the first customers of the day.
Although she starts her morning before all of her neighbors,
Lily doesn't mind.
She loves what she does and always looks forward to putting the very first treats in the oven and brewing the first cup of coffee.
The smiles on the faces of the people she knows make the early hours worth it.
Plus,
It means she's always ready for a good night's rest when the time comes.
She sits up in bed and pulls the sheets away from her legs.
Then,
She swings her feet over the edge.
Her toes find the cozy warmth of plush slippers waiting on the floor.
She shuffles into them and stands,
Yawning once more.
Lily softly tiptoes into the kitchen.
It just feels right to be quieter at this hour,
When night fades slowly into day.
Outside the window,
She can see the first hint of morning light,
Reflected in gray behind the house across the street.
There,
Her neighbor is still fast asleep.
He usually rises once the morning is well underway.
After a cup of coffee,
He moves to his garden,
Where he trims the grass and checks in on each and every one of his flowers and bushes.
He keeps the nicest plants that Lily has ever seen.
She sighs with gratitude,
Thinking of all the kind and friendly people who live on her street.
Lily walks over to the kitchen counter and brews herself a cup of strong black tea.
It's her favorite morning drink.
She adds a splash of milk and watches the creamy liquid circle through the cup,
Slowly mixing with the darker counterpart.
Carefully,
She carries it over to her spot on the wooden seat beneath the kitchen window.
She sits down and brings the steaming cup to her lips.
The first sip is always the best.
She welcomes the taste in her mouth.
The tea warms her from the inside.
Like the embers of a cozy fire on a chilly day.
Looking at the sky through the glass,
Lily sees the clouds have formed a heavy blanket that hangs over town.
It's unlikely there will be a break in the rain today,
She thinks.
But that's nothing to worry about.
It always rains like this in autumn.
And she enjoys the special feelings that come along with this time of year.
If there were no rain,
She wouldn't need to pull on her warm and fuzzy sweaters or slip her feet into her favorite rubber boots.
She wouldn't get to wear her cozy scarves or use her cheerful coloured umbrella.
Really,
The rain is easy to enjoy,
So long as you have warm clothes and a cup of tea.
She takes the last sip and washes the cup in the sink,
Leaving it to dry on a little bamboo rack.
Then,
She walks to her bedroom and dresses for the day.
With a final glance at her comfortable bed,
She heads to the front door.
There will be plenty of time to rest later on.
In the hallway,
She pulls on her felt hat and woolen scarf and picks up her bright yellow umbrella.
The door closes with a click behind her and she steps out onto the walkway.
She slides the umbrella open.
It abruptly pops to life in a burst of color above her head.
Sitting in the window of the house on her right is the little white cat she's come to know well.
Its owner is a lovely woman who usually wears her hair in a bun.
The cat stares at Lily as she passes,
But its expression gives nothing away.
She smiles at it and waves.
Aside from her fluffy friend,
No one else in the neighborhood has begun to stare.
As she walks,
Lily passes quaint homes with dark windows,
Still tucked in for the night.
A few porch lights flicker above brick front steps,
And the street lamps around her give off a soft,
Yellow glow,
Which pools with the rainwater on the pavement.
She listens to the sound of the rain trickling down the fabric of the umbrella.
Beneath its sunny yellow canopy,
She is safe and dry.
It reminds her of when she used to build pillow and blanket forts as a child.
Hidden away under the folds of cotton and fleece,
She felt as though the whole world was distilled down into a quiet and protected space that was all her own.
Lily smiles at the memory and uses her free hand to pull the woollen scarf more closely around her.
She skips over a puddle on her left and weaves around another on her right as she begins her descent of the hill,
Leading to the bakery's parking area.
In the distance,
The brightly painted door of the shop stands out against the gloom.
Swirls of green,
Blue,
Yellow,
Purple,
And orange paint dance across the wooden exterior,
Welcoming all who enter.
She vividly remembers painting the door one summer evening all those years ago.
Brush in hand,
She let her creativity lead the way,
Combining the rainbow of colors into spiraling patterns all across the wooden surface.
When she finished,
She brushed the hair out of her eyes and looked down.
Her overalls and hands were splattered with flecks of dried paint.
She laughed,
Caught up in the joy of bringing beauty to the ordinary,
If only in a small way.
Now,
Lily pulls out her set of brass keys and fits one into the lock on the door.
It creaks open,
Revealing the dark interior of the still-sleeping shop.
She shakes off her umbrella and flicks a switch with her fingertips.
The lights snap on,
And she sighs with contentment.
It's good to be back in the bakery.
The smell of flour,
Sugar,
And espresso beans greet her as she walks through the quiet shop.
These aromas waft toward her from the kitchen,
A reminder of yesterday's baking.
There's also a hint of toasted pecans from the pie she made just before closing up.
In her mind,
She runs through all the things she plans to make today as she gets the bakery ready to open.
She turns on the oven to let it warm up.
First,
She'll do cinnamon rolls,
Like always,
She thinks to herself.
But this time,
She can add some toasted pecans for a little extra crunch.
She brings over all the metal components of the espresso machine that she left drying on the rack the night before.
She'll also be making pumpkin pie today,
" she remembers.
Every year around this time,
Her customers start to ask when the pumpkin pies will be done.
Some people like to order by the slice.
There are always a few hoping to bring home a whole pie to share with their family.
Lily walks over to the cozy seating area and reaches down against the wall.
Her fingertips find a plug,
Which she inserts into the socket.
Strands of fairy lights twinkle to life above her head.
For a moment,
She stops moving and her mind settles.
Lily takes a deep breath in and looks up at the lights.
As she exhales,
A sense of calm washes over her.
It's important to slow down and enjoy the small moments,
She thinks.
After all,
These are the ones that make life magical.
With the lights shimmering on the ceiling,
She walks over to the counter and into the small,
Open kitchen area.
From here,
She has a clear view of the whole shop and can easily move from her baking table to the espresso machine when people come in.
She pulls two large white buckets of dough out from under the counter.
The sticky dough has been rising here overnight.
She pours it onto the wooden surface and spreads it out flat.
Then,
She sprinkles it with cinnamon,
Sugar,
And toasted pecans,
And uses the tips of her fingers to roll it into a large log.
She slices it into discs,
Which have delicate spirals of filling running through them.
She dusts the tops of each with more cinnamon sugar and then sets the tray in the oven to bake.
After a few minutes,
The delicious aroma of fresh cinnamon rolls wafts through the bakery.
The comforting scent and the warmth of the oven intermingle,
Making Lily feel right at home.
A while later,
The oven beeps.
She takes out the tray of rolls and sets it on a wire rack to cool.
Now,
It's time to start on the pie.
She makes her way to the pantry at the back of the kitchen and opens the door.
Lily thinks of this space as her own magic room,
Packed full of all the ingredients and supplies that she could possibly need.
Tubs of flour and baking powder are stacked beneath large canisters of spices and bottles of flavor extract.
A jar of vanilla pods sits on the topmost shelf.
Is star anise,
Fresh cloves,
And poppy seeds,
Onion powder,
Roasted garlic,
And chili flakes.
And there on the bottom shelf,
Tucked near the back,
Are fresh sugar pumpkins from a farm up the road.
She chooses a hefty,
Medium-sized pumpkin and tucks it under her arm.
In a large metal mixing bowl,
She piles jars of spices and a few wooden spoons.
She balances it all with the flair of someone who is used to carrying more than they should.
Lily sets her armful of ingredients down on the counter.
First,
She has to roast the pumpkin.
She carefully slices the gourd in half and scoops out the stringy interior and seeds.
Then,
She sets both sides face down on a baking tray and puts them in the oven to cook and soften.
While the oven works its magic on the pumpkin,
Lily gets to work on the crust.
There are many different types of crusts she could make,
But her favorite is graham cracker.
She got the recipe from her Aunt Lucy,
Who always baked mini pies for all the children during the holidays.
Lily pulls a plastic sleeve of graham crackers from their blue cardboard box and sets it on the counter.
She lays a tea towel over the package and gets out her large,
Heavy rolling pin.
Gently,
She rolls it back and forth over the towel,
Crushing the crackers below.
She works the pin from side to side,
Feeling the smooth wooden handles move beneath her palms.
The crackers crunch and snap under the weight.
Once they are the texture of rough sand,
She pulls open the corners of the bag and pours the contents into a mixing bowl.
A little puff of graham cracker dust tickles her nose.
Lily walks to the large,
Silver refrigerator and finds a stick of butter.
She unwraps the waxy packaging and plops the stick into a mixing cup.
It goes in the microwave for just a few seconds until the butter is melted and glassy.
She pours the butter into the bowl with the crumbs and adds a good amount of sugar and cinnamon.
Using a long,
Wooden spoon,
She mixes them all together until they feel like wet sand.
With her fingers,
She spreads the mixture into the bottom and sides of a shallow pie dish.
She works over the crust methodically,
Careful not to let it crack along the edges.
She pushes and presses,
A little more here,
A little less there.
Before long,
It forms an even brown base.
The oven beeps once again.
Lily pulls on her thick,
Colorful oven mitts and lifts out the tray of pumpkin.
Then,
She slides the pie dish into its place.
She sets the timer for 12 minutes,
Just enough to get the crust a little bit crunchy so it holds up under the weight of the liquid filling.
Just then,
She hears a creak as the wooden door swings open.
Her first customer of the day has arrived.
As always,
It's Seamus the kind,
Elderly man who likes to read his paper with a cup of coffee and a cinnamon roll.
The only exception is on days like today,
When she makes pumpkin pie.
He smiles at Lily as she pours a long,
Thin stream of coffee into a mug.
He's been coming into her shop for so many years,
He doesn't even have to order anymore.
By the time he reaches the counter and wishes her a good morning.
Lily already has his breakfast ready to go.
Smells like pumpkin pie is on the menu,
" he says to her,
Taking his coffee in hand.
She smiles and promises to bring him out a slice as soon as it's finished baking.
He thanks her and takes up his usual seat by the window,
Snapping open the crisp fold of the morning newspaper.
Now that he's here,
It really feels like the day has begun.
Lily enjoys working while Seamus is in the shop.
He is as much a part of this place as any of her other regular customers.
Together,
They are a community.
A family almost,
And they call the rainy day bakery home.
She looks at the timer and sees the crust is ready to come out.
She pulls on her mitts and removes the dish from the oven.
It smells warm,
Sweet,
And toasty.
Just heavenly,
As Seamus would say.
Now,
Lily turns her attention to the pumpkin filling.
With a spoon,
She scoops out the orange flesh of the pumpkin from the skin and drops it into a large bowl.
She mashes it around with a wooden spoon until it has an even and smooth consistency.
She brings over eggs and heavy cream from the refrigerator and begins cracking the eggs one by one,
Adding them to the pumpkin.
Then,
She pours in the cream,
Watching its milky whiteness trickle through valleys of orange puree,
Like little pearly rivers.
Lily measures heaping spoonfuls of cinnamon,
Ground ginger,
Nutmeg,
Cloves,
And cardamom.
Together,
The spices call to mind everything familiar and comforting about this time of year.
This is the aroma of the holidays.
Of family and togetherness.
As she mixes,
The air seems to hold her in a warm embrace of memory and scent.
She grates the tiniest bit of lemon zest into the filling to brighten the flavor and give it a little zing.
She stirs it one more time until the mixture is perfectly smooth and silky.
Carefully,
She pours the filling into the crust,
Using a spatula to clean the sides of the bowl and get every last drop.
Then,
She slowly carries the wobbly pie to the oven and puts it down gently on the rack.
With the timer set,
She has a few moments to rest.
She leans back against her table and looks out over the shop.
There's a bookshelf in the corner where people have left little paperbacks and large,
Hardbound art books.
She's put in a few mystery novels herself over the years.
After she finishes reading them,
She likes to pass them on to someone else,
Knowing they'll bring the same kind of joy to new eyes.
Near the shelf,
There's a small,
Hand-painted children's rocking chair.
She found it in a second-hand shop years ago and brought it into the bakery for her smaller customers.
Over time,
Various children added their own special touches to the chair.
Now,
It's decorated with flowers and bees,
Squiggly lines and little scratches.
The beep from the oven pulls Lily back to the baking at hand.
The pie is ready.
She opens the oven door,
And a hot breeze meets her cheeks like dragon's breath.
It carries with it the nutty and savory sweet aroma of warm pumpkin pie.
Lily pulls the dish out of the oven and sets it on the counter.
It cools there while she cleans up all the mixing bowls,
Rolling pins,
And measuring cups.
Over by the window,
She can see Seamus casting curious looks towards the pie.
She laughs and cuts him a slice.
On second thought,
She cuts an extra piece for herself,
Too.
It's been a long morning already,
And she can think of nothing better than sitting with an old friend for a taste of something sweet.
She puts each slice on a small white dish and plops a dollop of fresh whipped cream on top.
Then,
She carries them over to the table by the window and sits down across from Seamus.
Smells delicious,
Just like every year,
" he says,
Sinking his fork into the filling.
Lily brings the first bite to her lips and savors the tanginess of the pumpkin against her tongue.
The flavor is deep and aromatic.
It fills her senses with warm,
Sweet spice.
Perfect,
She thinks,
Just perfect.
As she eats her pie,
She looks around with pride at her little bakery.
Seamus smiles.
Good friends are excellent company on autumn days like this,
She thinks.
She looks at the fairy lights and watches them twinkle to the rhythmic pattering of the rain against the window.
These are the details that make this place feel like home,
" Lily thinks.
The bakery tells the story of its customers,
Of all the people who have ever walked through its creaky wooden door.
She smiles,
Contented,
Knowing this is exactly where she's meant to be.
That's the end of our story for this evening.
Feel free to let yourself drift off.
Or you can select another story to listen to.
Either way,
Have a wonderful night,
And sweet dreams.
