The way this day goes

​Too fast it seems then too slow.  I make bread dough, it rises, there is shaping then more rise then the day fills up with baked bread and desert winds. Winds which cause a change of long-to-short sleeves then short to sleeveless. I create a lunch of nothing more than leftovers made into a salad and then tea, but which kind? The dogs bark at those same taupe ground squirrels that run pass the sliding doors on the way to burrow behind the grape vine. And now the California Scrub Jay wants the tube feeder filled so launches a tormenting series of screeches. This isn't a poem but it is the way this day goes.