The clouds have faded,
Softly, gently, nudged out of the way
By a pale winter sun.
The scent of freshly baked bread,
Straight from the oven,
Floats by on the breeze.
I think of butter, melting, hotly,
Into a still-steaming slice of bread,
And the crunch of that first bite
Of the crisp outer crust.
Oh yes… I will linger on the porch for a while…