It was cold and snowy when I woke up. Clad in buttery yellow pyjamas, I made my way to the kitchen to fix myself a cup of tea, toast, sausages, and eggs. I opened the green window curtain above the sink and greeted my golden retriever, Waffle, who was lying on her bed. She yawned and stretched before pleading for a belly rub.
My phone chimed with a reminder about the 12 p.m. book club meeting. The book club was run by my best friend, Helen, at the local community centre. I had promised to help her set up.
We had been asked to read and reflect on the poem “The World Is Both Burning and Blooming” by Karen Salmansohn since we finished our scheduled novel ahead of time. The poem felt like a palate cleanser and I was grateful for it.
I showered quickly and slipped into a pink fleece two-piece, and white sneakers. I packed a snack box for Waffle and I, fastened her vest, grabbed my blue notepad and headed out right as the clock struck 10 a.m.
At the bus stop, Waffle paused to greet an elderly couple and a toddler whose mom was taking a walk. The bus commute is usually fifty minutes, but we arrived in forty because of the light traffic. Between the potholes jostling my seat, I also used the ride to jot down my thoughts on the poem and read a few pages of my book.
After signing in at the receptionist’s desk, I made my way to the room Marigold had booked. Waffle immediately spotted Helen’s chihuahua, and began playing with him. I gave Helen a bear hug and asked about her week before we quietly arranged chairs and set some juice boxes and chocolate chip cookies by the door.
Soon the others arrived.
“Did this assignment make anyone else pause and question their life choices?” I quipped as we settled into our seats. Laughter rippled through the group as Marigold distributed a printed copy of the poem to everyone.
“Well, I wasn’t rethinking my life per say,” Carissa said. “But I’ve been considering turning my phone off. Social media is becoming unbearable. It feels like endless injustices are smacking me in the face and there’s nothing I can do about it.”
“There’s guilt in celebrating,” Catherine chimed in. “There’s wars in the Ukraine, in Palestine, and across the world and here I am picking up a book to reward myself over the weekend.” Clara interjected: “Celebrating doesn’t stop the horrible things happening in the world. They just co-exist.” Clara was finishing her final year at university, and she had recently received a job offer at a marketing firm. She had spoken about her hesitant excitement — excitement for the new job, but wariness about her new coworkers.
We continued talking about the poem. About my bakery — how people see the cute pastries and polished presentation but not the discipline, exhaustion or aching wrists. We spoke more about war, immigration, inflation, about losing friends and building new ones. I said that letting go hurts, but healing through growth is really beautiful.
“I had the baby after her funeral,” Helen said, and the room fell silent. She looked at each of us thoughtfully, “I think the poem is teaching us that we must live our lives. We don’t become desensitized to what’s happening. We help wherever we can. We stay aware. We care deeply.”
She smiled, “But we also allow ourselves to feel joy without guilt. We take delight in what we build, who we love, and the small things that make life meaningful.”
Eventually, the conversation melted into laughter as we packed up chairs and divided leftovers. Helen’s chihuahua was curled into the soft fur of Waffle’s side while they waited for us. The bus ride home was quieter. Snow tapped gently against the window, and the sky dimmed into evening. I leaned back and let the rhythm of the road settle my thoughts.
At home, I made dinner and cleaned up. Later, I brewed myself another cup of tea, just like I had that morning. The house was warm, the lights were soft, and Waffle rested at my feet.
I replayed the day in my mind — the stories, the honesty, the clapping, the quiet understanding.
I realized that life must be lived regardless of what is happening around us. Because the world is both burning and blooming and so are we.
