Two loaves of molasses bread
Mixed: 1:10 pm
Molded: 2:45 pm
Baked: 3:30 pm
Gave one loaf to Jack
I’m enjoying summer. The pace is slow, and the weather is delicious. I’ve been reading (a bit), and writing (a lot), and taking the kids to the beach. We’ve been eating dinner out back, the doors flung wide open, and slowly cleaning the house, emptying drawers and closets at an even and steady pace.
My last effort in giving fit just perfectly with this easy and grateful mood I’m in. The molasses bread was still warm and I could see that Jack, our across-the-street neighbor, who always looks after the house when we’re away, was home. I slid the loaf into a small brown bag, walked across the street and knocked on the door.
“Thanks for all you do, Jack.”
“I don’t do anything!”
“You do, too. Enjoy the bread…”
He smiled, I smiled, and I slowly returned home, marveling at the still-blooming orchids on the front porch.
I don’t know… The simplicity of it all. Of just baking, and giving, and staring at orchid blossoms, and doing it all at a human pace. A pace where you have the time to sit on the porch for a minute before going in (where five teenagers are devouring the other loaf of molasses bread). I know school is coming again soon, and that I’ll have to shift into second, then third, and even fourth gear at times… But for now, I’m so thankful for the time to really look at what’s around me–the bird chirping on the telephone wire, the fig turning from green to purple, the yeast bubbling in the warm water…
What about you? What sort of slow movements have you noticed in your world this summer?