The morning teacher seemed friendly enough.
She mostly dished kindness, but here and there, something spat sideways from her beautiful offering bowl. A dollop of derision, for instance, placed perfectly atop the morning porridge. A sprinkle of disgust mixed with the crystal clear sugar. Disdain, just a touch, floating in the pretty peaches and cream.
This surprised me — every time — until I clarified my thought-butter.
Does scorn hide in the covered corners of my pantry? Does my upper lip curl (even slightly) upon detecting (fear parading as) prejudice, hate in others?
And, do I notice?
Where’s my oatmeal-blueberry love then?