Textures of Existence

Fingers dusted with flour, as warmth fills the air,

a loaf on the counter, no finer affair.

Roughness and crust, my senses ignite,

with a promise of comfort, a hug from the light.

Each knead in the dough, a rhythm I find,

shapes molded by time, a peace of the mind.

While life rushes by, I pause to behold,

the textures of being, in stories retold.

And the scent of the bread, fills the room deep and wide,

like laughter and warmth, all the joy we can't hide.

In the simple and real, I discover the heart,

of moments well spent, of life's fleeting art.