Quiet Poppy, Bread and Roses

Everything has a rhythm to it.
We just want quiet. And music. And voices with nothing but happy messages, wise messages, thoughtful messages.  Just tired of the sad stories I guess, and everyone's got them.
I want to sleep all day if I want and bake all night if I like.
...Lay in the sun with the rabbits and watch the light behind my eyelids.
and drink whiskey and stare at out the mountain.

Preparing fragrant roses from the garden for a brown-sugar rose jam and filling for tarts.
I was sick with a severe flu the last couple of weeks.  Flu and regrets.  The flu was bad enough, but missing the VG Symposium, oh that one stung.  2020 is my year to go.  I just... didn't know how to handle the social anxiety of being around complete strangers sometimes. even in my 30's... but then I found out some friends were there and I regretted letting my phobia get the best of me this year.  I really wanted to meet Fawn and Rebecca in person. 2020 will be different, I can feel it.

No messages. No gossip.  No group-chats. No venting.  No complaining. 
Nothing is personal, nothing is without reason, all things find balance.

bread resting outside on the porch overlooking the goat farm.
Everyone eats, but the spirits eat first.
I want my bread to always rise and the crust to always shine.
I want the last of my poppies to bloom before it's too late.

Two lemon poppy-seed loaves and a rosemary garlic poppy loaf.
I'm going to drink this peppermint tea, and eat this lemon poppy-seed bread and bow to my shrine of the poppy mother and wish the best for everyone.  That's the magic I'm making in the bread I've been baking.  I wish well, quietly.  I grow my poppies, quietly.  I sleep beneath the shrine of the poppy mother, quietly. This is the ritual of peace.

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