Being an accounting of the recent and continuing pandemic and its various circumstances, from the perspective of an inhabitant of the regions lately called the Lost Quarter. Dates unknown.
Day Sixty Two
The day is overcast but warm. I spend it indoors baking flax bread, prairie buns, and cinnamon rolls, laying in supplies for the weeks to come. Now that I am done with that work I have no urge to write. It is enough to sit back and smell the fruits of my labours. Perhaps a taste as well, for there is nothing quite like the taste of bread freshly made.