Write a four line poem about: the rush.
Worked from 8:45 to 11:15 this morning. Bakery opened at 9. By the time I left all the bread was sold, along with all the croissants, butter tarts, ciabatta buns and loaves, baguettes, and cinnamon buns. Which left the focaccia and various prepared things the bakery sells for other people (honey, smoked meats, cheeses... other things I can't remember right now).
Needless to say, when I walked out all I had to say was My work here is done.
Because I obviously had everything to do with how well things went...
Anyway. Looking forward to having a few days to get things done around the house and farm before I'm back in there on Wednesday morning.
The floodgates have opened,
They're coming full force.
Trust yourself, stand tall, and
Scream until you're hoarse...