Sunday, July 15, 2012

freewrite #59 bread

There's nothing in the world like the smell of fresh baked bread.  It must be a universal pleasure whether the bread is flat or round or styled into a loaf.
My friend's father was a baker who made his own bread.
A psychic once told me i was a baker's daughter, but in germany in the 17th century.  I was in love with the local ner' do well.  Not so different from this life.
Bread in all flavors, rye, pumpernickel, marbeled breads.  The bread of life. Sustanance, nourishment of body and soul.
Warm bread with butter slowly melting , a little bit of heaven for sure.
Bread tossed upon the waters.
Bread toasted golden brown -- chunks ripped from a crusty loaf.

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