They're warm. They're wholesome. And they are absolutely everywhere — filling your farmers markets and neighborhood driveways with fresh sourdough, gooey cinnamon rolls, and the kind of joy that makes you want to sing the Mr. Rogers theme song. Consider yourself warned.

I was doom scrolling. As one does. As one knows one shouldn't do. But one does anyway — and somewhere between aliens, perimenopause, and El Niño, God interrupted with a verse I wasn't expecting.