January 23, 2012

A Loaf of Bread


I had contemplated ironing the tablecloth but there was bread to be made.


The dough had quadrupled in size before I pulled it from the bowl and shaped it into a loaf. Tucking under the ends. Pinching the seams. Generously oiling the tin.

Waiting was not a problem. I would let it rise a second time. As high as it might.

I tucked myself into the sofa with knitting needles and a thin weight, medium chestnut yarn.

As the hours slipped under the setting light, I set down my work, shifting attention back to the risen loaf.

It would be close, but I was certain that it would be cool enough to slice in time for supper.

This would be the case.


  1. I'm so pleased you didn't iron the tablecloth! I love the look of it and your description of those slow, patient hours. Love too that thin red line of a bookmark against the yellow...

  2. oh... i love cooking bread too. being patient...

  3. bread and knitting...you are pulling on my heart strings.

  4. Precious... I can almost smell the bread. (thanks for your kind comment actually I am in the process of re-arranging the blog mixing some art or crazy thought that goes through my head with cooking. Please come and visit!)


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