He loved Pumpkin Bread. He loved a lot of specific things. He knew what he liked because after much living and much thinking about living he made a point to extract the wheat from the chaff. He knew by practical experimentation which things worked best and he held tight to those things.
No sense in avoiding it, so I just let it come. Once Iit, it races up from my heart straight out my eyes like how brush fires hop fences in a robust wind. I think about how I have no napkins to wipe my tears here in the cafe. And how I should have some sunglasses to hide my swollen eyes.
Thoughts act as a break dousing the thing. The more I think the more things improve.
Fire now out, smoke and char remain. But I keep it together. And I move on…
Have you tasted the Pumpkin Bread at La Farm French Bakery? Oh you must, it is sooooo delicious!