I Made Bread, and I Made Tea.

There are different books for different times. The book in my hand was perfect for reading outside, and might, if done correctly, lead to napping. So I walked for a while, let the water, still very cold from the night, wash over my ankles, and poked its shells with my toes. On the way back up the stairs, an hour or so later, I remembered that I was making bread. It was a bit of a beast, and I knocked the air out of it, and rolled it into a big round loaf. Put it on a baking tray, and pushed it into the oven. I would need some iced tea, and my book next. Back in