Keep Stirring

Keep stirring, she admonished me. And I would try, twisting and turning over and over until a distraction. But she was never distracted, and somehow knew that my attention was at risk. She made a sound, not exactly a word, but not exactly not. Even if I couldn't spell it, I knew what it meant. I stirred again. As I looked at my admittedly sporadic efforts, the color intrigued me. A color I'd seen before, to be sure, but never at this precise moment -- just before the shade settled into what I'd always known. I realized that I had not seen this precise shade before, and was truly unlikely to see it ever again. As I looked, I wanted it to stay, never change, never transform into the familiar, but remain this surprisingly lovely unfamiliarity. But she made another sound, and I knew I'd better keep stirring.