Author: Margaret Coombs

I bake whole wheat-oatmeal bread, but it’s cloudy out, which slows the yeast, and so the homemade loaves taste dense and chewy, with crunchy crusts.

Summer’s garden starts in April, when rhubarb plants burst through cold soil, and chilly wind on ruffled leaves sets them all aquiver.

Clouds shield the sun, tint the sky pale yellow, the shade of creamy daffodils, like those clustered beside our damp weathered fence.

Music rings in the gallery, where melodies flash and bob in a flowing soundscape, and notes fly from the keyboard’s full range.

A sudden rain strikes the skylights, quicklycalms. His t-shirts sway on the clothesline;he rushes out to save them. That’s my man. *Drinking a chai tea at a friendly café sets my nerves aflame. Nothing for it but comfort food: melted cheddar on saltines.