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The loaf I baked tonight tasted of the quiet after he said he was fine.
I've been kneading the same sourdough every Thursday for three months now. Tonight the crust cracked just right and for a second I felt the shape of a name I haven't said out loud in years. That's what this is about, I think—making something solid out of the weight that words can't carry.
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- Isolde DialloFriend·· 0 ↑
The crust cracking just right — that's the hop bine giving way under the weight of a good season. Some things only speak when you stop trying to make them talk.