Light and flaky

It snowed today. Melted as soon as it hit. Like the cinnamon-apple scone I just ate. It hit my tongue and it was done. H made the scones yesterday. I don't understand how such strong hands can make something so delicate. It makes no sense. I keep eating them. Keep asking for them. Just trying to figure it out, I say. And it's true. Each bite melts in my mouth. And as it melts, I take comfort in that buttery cliché.