The Quiet Afterward

Braemar, 1966 — Evening. Catherine Smith baked her cherry peel cake without urgency. The house was still, the hills already darkening beyond the window. She set the kettle on and listened as it warmed, steady and familiar. The silver spoon, etched with small flowers, rested by the bowl, a WRI prize from years before. Time had softened her need to be measured against others. She thought less now about the judging hall, more about the calm that had settled into her days. The cake cooled on the rack, filling the kitchen with sweetness. When the spoon was later shaped into a ring, the silver curved smoothly, complete in itself. Catherine wore it while pouring tea, feeling its quiet weight. It reminded her that real peace is not achieved through striving, but found when life is allowed to be simple, present, and enough.