The Bread

—by which I mean the honey-oatmeal bread, of course. This week, it really rose. Bread is interesting that way: every time is different. There are reasons, of course and, also, I think, no good reason. I like that.

Note the bags of flours and sugar in the background. I have a fear of running out. And my hummingbird, Pedro, who it seems has now left, was really going through sugar for a while there.