A
Bouquet of Wild Flowers
Cathy
Lynn asked me the check the Bread Maker
yesterday
morning, which occasionally has a tendency
to
not knead the dough completely; but I got lost deep
in thought
as I wrote my daily poem (I blame Robert
Bly
for this addictive habit), and I forgot. I went to work
upon
completing my poem (Robert By does not have
a
day job); but
when I came home for my coffee break,
I
smelled the bread and remembered what I was supposed
to
do. I opened the Bread Maker door expecting to see
a
leavened loaf nicely baking; but instead, my eyes
beheld
an ugly lump of dough struggling for its integrity,
and guilt
possessed me. I left the loaf to bake, hoping
some
miracle would make it rise; but just in case the God
of
Bread did not hear my prayer, I stopped on my way
home
for lunch and picked a bouquet of wild flowers.
When
I walked into the house, I heard disappointment
in
Cathy Lynn’s voice as she called my name; but before
she
told me about the bread, I handed her the cheerful
bouquet
and said, “I forgot and I’m sorry and these are
for
you.” Her face lit up with love as it always does when
I surprise
her the way I do; and when she left for work
after
lunch, she smiled and said to me, “You’re such a joy
to live
with. I’ll put on a fresh loaf when I get home.”
Composed
in Nipigon, Ontario
Date
unknown: 1990-2000
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