NeuroDivine

There’s something deeply comforting about the stillness of late morning. The rush of the day hasn’t quite taken hold, and there’s a softness in the air—a gentle invitation to pause. And what better companion to that pause than a plate of freshly baked scones, each one split into thirds and lovingly topped with strawberry jam?

No grandeur here. Just crumbly, golden scone pieces—their edges slightly uneven, their texture tender and warm. The jam, rich and ruby-red, glistens like dew on petals. It’s not just a spread; it’s a memory. Of summer fields, of sticky fingers, of sweetness that lingers.

Three thirds. Not halves. A quiet rebellion against symmetry. Each bite its own little story—jam pooling in the crevices, currants peeking through the crumb. The plate, patterned with blue florals, adds its own whisper of charm. A butter knife rests nearby, streaked with jam, as if caught mid-thought.

This isn’t breakfast. It’s not quite lunch. It’s something softer—a moment of grace in the middle of the day. A reminder that beauty doesn’t need to shout. It can sit quietly on a plate, waiting to be noticed.

So here’s to the scone. To strawberry jam. To thirds, not halves. And to the kind of snack that nourishes more than just hunger—it feeds the soul.