Oh, but it's good to feel summer stretching out her long limbs, good to step out of the kitchen on a Friday into the golden evening, and feel that, even though my feet ache and my eyes are sticky with fatigue, the day still holds possibilities. Good to ride home past the kids clustered on corners, the walking families, the crowded bus station, to lay down on the old goat hair rug in my room in the filtered sunlight with a book, promising myself that I'll get up in just a moment, after just one more chapter, to gather my things for market. Good to get up instead only long enough to crawl into bed, with my housemates laughing in the kitchen and the last of the light painting the room shadow blue, and go to sleep.
That is the perfect end to a long day.
And now I've woken up to rain, and it feels as good as last night's golden light. I can almost hear my garden growing. I hope the clouds don't keep you away from the market. I have smoky German rye, for all of you who've been patiently waiting it's return to the menu. A rhubarb lime tart, and another with hazelnut cream and the end of last summer's stone fruit. The usual assortment of cookies and breads.
Come grab a treat, and talk to me about the beginnings of the community wood fired oven. I've dug a hole! Tomorrow I'll pound gravel, and after that set the cinder block base, pour the hearth slab, and start building. It's happening at last.
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