By Cheryl Pearson
Up before the hens, my daughter.
Just her and the cows in the blue hour.
Them tugged of milkweight and loosed
to steam like warm loaves in the cold air.
Her in an apron, hair pulled into a bun.
I know how she works: the way she takes
the dough’s wet slack, punches it down
into flour. The pale curves her knuckles make,
like the hollows left by sleeping deer.
The future is yellow. The first finger of light
on the land, the smear of butter on the heel
of bread. But not for hours. First the farmers,
the bakers. The definite moon turning sheer.
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It rained almost all day Friday, so we had a pretty quiet day. There was some writing that got done, a bunch of chores that got done, and a walk in the afternoon drizzle to the beach, where the ducks were sleeping, the geese were eating grass, and the eagles were hiding. We had bagels for lunch and leftover Mod Pizza for dinner, so not an exciting food day, either.
We watched this week's For All Mankind, which made me sad on so many levels and also yelling at certain characters. Now we're watching the start of the second season of The Morning Show, which has me yelling at even more characters and I love Julianna Margulies! The annual Sheraton Grand Seattle Gingerbread Village, Wonka-themed, to raise money for diabetes research:
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