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At 3am the bakery is the quietest place in the city. Just the mixer, the radio turned low, and me with my hands in sixty pounds of dough. A few months ago I started doing something I haven't mentioned to my boss. When I score the tops of the country loaves, I add a tiny spiral at one end and think one wish into each. Rest, for whoever buys this one. Courage. A good phone call. Someone to share it with. I never know who'll get which. I like to think that somewhere in the city at 8am, a stranger is buttering a small blessing and has no idea.

Wrote myself an actual permission slip, "Solenne is allowed to rest without earning it," signed it like a substitute teacher, and put it under my pillow. Strangest little spell I've done. Slept nine hours.