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There’s something comforting about a sink of hot water. This simple act of washing dishes that zen masters have turned into the most perfect of meditations. A quiet way of bringing order to the world. Growing up, it was my party trick. Literally. In the mornings after: awake, listening to the sounds of a strange house. I learned to make peace for myself. A chance to wash away the regrets of the night before. To find myself again. Following a soap bubble out of the forest.
the rim of a plate