Sometimes, the day goes as usual - coffee, hair, bag, street, things to do - and then something suddenly shifts. Not sharply, not dramatically. Just - a shift. As if someone invisible turned the handle on the gramophone, and different music began to play. It was cloudy in the morning, but by lunchtime the sun came out, and a strange wind blew down the street - warm, but tart. It smelled like... lemon. Or maybe I just really wanted lemon?

I stood at the crossing, catching the smell and remembered: when I was sixteen, I kissed a guy for the first time, who always had lollipops in his pocket. And that first kiss - it was sour. From a lemon lollipop. I laughed terribly then, and it seemed to me that if a kiss begins with such sourness, then life will be very fun. Later, however, everything turned out to be more complicated. But the lemon remained in me as a symbol - of something that is not cloying, but alive.

I returned home and looked at the lemons in the vase for a long time. Ordinary yellow lumps. Silent. And everything inside me was buzzing - with that wind, memory, heat and lemon. And then I did something I usually don’t do during the week. I baked a lemon pie. Not according to a recipe. Not according to plan. Just because I needed this taste - sour, spicy, sunny, with a barely noticeable bitterness.

Here it is, my spontaneous recipe:

- warm evening

- one lemon (or two, if you want to be louder)

- a little butter

- sugar - by eye, because everyone has their own sweetness

- flour and eggs - I didn't measure, I just felt

- and a little rosemary - because I like it when lemon meets the unexpected

The dough turned out lazy, thick. The smell in the oven was as if August had settled in the apartment. I didn't cut the pie with a knife - I just broke off the edge, and it was perfect: crispy on the outside, soft and moist on the inside. The hot piece stuck to my fingers, and I laughed - just like that time, when I was sixteen. For the first time in a long time - just because everything came together.

I sat by the open window, eating the pie with my hands, the wind playing with my hair, and the sun was setting behind the neighboring house. And then I thought: sometimes all you need is the smell of lemon, a little wind and the opportunity to say to yourself: "yes, today is not a day for plans - today is a day for life."

Some people think that happiness is a result. But I prefer the idea that it is a moment. Very fragile. It is impossible to catch it in a box and save it. It is like lemon zest - it flares up with aroma and disappears. But you managed to inhale. Managed to smile.

So let there be more winds, lemons and those pies that are made on sensations. I want to live like this: a little chaotic, very tasty and with a dance on the tongue.