By most standards my life is very simple, my routine extremely mundane. So, years ago I determined to treat every day as a page in a well written book, to make each task a poem written by me.

This morning after doing the rounds of usual chores... feeding the dogs, trimming one tree in the front yard and dragging the limbs to the pile, starting a load of laundry.. .I read a chapter in my book and then decided I felt like baking.

I turned XM radio to the New Age station, donned my trusty apron, and went to work.

There is something so completely satisfying to me in that. The smell of the yeast as it begins to work, the feel of the dough as it becomes silky and compliant under my fingers, even the act of cleaning up the flour that I manage to get everywhere. It feels like poetry to me.