Of Love and Loaves

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 Of Love and Loaves


Just downstairs from where I lived was a bakery.

There a long-haired girl with a blue-eyed smile made bread.

She mixed, she kneaded, she loafed the dough.

She worked her magic, and so the loaves rose.


Bread’s aroma came up from the ovens below.

And unable to resist her fresh-made bread, I got to talking with her.

Her smiling eyes, her story-telling lips, worked magic on me, again I couldn’t resist.

We made a family.


As good as she was at bakery, she’s even better at family.

Kids love her.

We’ve been together now for forty-five years, and our boys have their own magic stories to tell.

We have grandkids.


So that’s my story of love and loaves, of the woman whose love just grows like dough.

Its magic she knows.

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