The angularity of the woman
\nwas softened by her cookies.
\nOatmeal from the field,
\napple from a summer orchard.
\nCakes and tarts, buns,
\nthe baked berries and juices
\nof sun and rain,
\nand people strolling through bushes,
\nsmall hands picking
\nthe scent of wildness and sugar.<\/p>\n
Blue like it never shows
\nin the sky,
\nred like a cloth of satin.
\nYellow grapes, funky nuts
\nwith the sweetness of earth,
\nthe cornucopia of seasons,
\ntime and fog,
\nhours unleashing flavors
\nof paradisial stews and wines.<\/p>\n
Bakers like the angular woman,
\nthe rotund teacher,
\nthe boy imitating his mother
\nby shaping bread.
\nA girl with eyes of blackberry.
\nTables laden with isinglass glazes,
\npowdered frost,
\nthe tang of lemon chunked into ingots.
\nPeels of orange,
\nwreathes of cinnamon,
\njellies from the saltcellar.<\/p>\n
People who gathered fruit
\namong the leaves,
\nchildren hiding under tables,
\nthe holiday beginning.
\nArt and the mitigation of love
\nand suffering,
\ncelebrating the harvest of seasons.
\nThe spice of living,
\nyoung and old
\nbreaking bread and sharing
\nthe recipe of life.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The angularity of the woman was softened by her cookies. Oatmeal from the field, apple from a summer orchard. Cakes and tarts, buns, the baked…<\/p>\n