Sharing Salt

Salt preserves. Salt brings out flavour. Salt creates thirst.

And if it ever stops doing those things, throw it on the road, and let people walk over it.

This is why I have named this publication The Salt.

Yesterday, at lunchtime, my partner bit into the soft, buttery bounce of my freshly baked sourdough. She looked up from the slice with a confused look.

_“Did you forget to add the salt?” _She asked.

I did, it was noticeable.

Joy is fleeting, so imagine receiving warm, homemade bread with melted butter. You anticipate the satisfying taste, but it is missing something vital - salt - and that edge of joy is lost. Without salt, sourdough tastes beige.

Like that bread, I too need to make sure I don’t forget my own saltiness.

There’s a part of me that's recently gone quiet and happy to let others play the game. For I fear I am becoming beige.

No doubt you have seen one of those classic motivational posters that says, _“The cure for anything is salt water; tears, sweat, the sea”. _It’s cheesy but true, and in equal measure. I am currently writing this from Cornwall, a fine country for curing life’s ills _(and no, that wasn’t a typo, it is a country)_. I am surrounded by the fresh salt air, and I drink it in deep with each breath.

I won’t become beige. No matter how small I may feel.