Monday, 26 April 2010

Day Twenty

After work we walk in the long shadowed yellow fields, while at home, pale dough kneaded by my husband's hands slowly swells and spreads in the tin.
On the way back we are walking into the sinking sun and I can't see anything.
At the last minute I turn and notice the paper thin moon fragile against the still blue sky.
Later the bread comes out of the oven, our own moon, almost round, fully risen, with cratered crust the way we like it.

No comments:

Post a Comment