Phyllo

Phyllo Sweet taste of baclava. Drizzled honey. Crunchy walnuts. Hint of nutmeg. Warmed to delicate crispness. My mouth waters. Eyes light with delight. Nose twitches in anticipation. But……. Here I stand at midnight. My kitchen a doughy mess. Rolling and re-rolling phyllo dough My trials and tribulations on display with cracked and torn doughy pieces spread across the counter. Exhausted, ready to give up. The baklava seems miles away. Time wasted proving I can’t make phyllo dough. I slouch in my chair. Depression seeps into my soul. Then, with a grin, I remember my favorite Greek restaurant opens in the morning.