Putting together the makings of dinner, I saw this poem — the freshly-pulled garlic and the basil for pesto, two trout from Jeffrey in Powell River, and a loaf of sourdough bread, still warm. Oh, and wine is still in the fridge…
Tag: sourdough bread
Just picked, last night’s rain…
…still on their skins:
And the week’s sourdough bread cooling on a cloth from Arles:
...Theresa Kishkan, writer... 