I have a patient recipe that requires me to roll up my sleeves, slowly massage my hands under warm water and then squeeze them dry in my apron before sprinkling flour on the dry countertop.

Each morning the process of creating sustenance remains the same. There are days that I am in a hurry and I feel my honored loaves are being stubborn, recalcitrant. The hungrier I am the less I like to wait for them to rise.

My daily bread will eventually emerge if I do not hurry away to another task that offers immediacy.

first light

touches tree tops,

stillness please