I wrote this poem on November 10, 2021:
White knit touque gathering snowflakes in the early morning air.
The only company on the quiet main street is my vapour breath.
Each part of the process felt like a gift.
Stirring the cream of vegetable soup as it warmed.
Writing on the specials board.
This was a place of simple pleasures.
Simple was a pleasure in itself.
-Amanda
