She looked into my eyes

Daily bread

You can't repeat the past, she said.
What do you mean you can't?
Of course you can.

That's the line from "Summer Days," a song from Bob Dylan's "'Love & Theft.'" It's stolen straight from The Great Gatsby.

Can't repeat the past? I don't know.

But today I made honey-soy bread, with Amish honey, from a Mennonite recipe. It's delicious--dense, and dark, and wheat-y. There's lots of whole wheat in there. Good winter bread.

I'm eating it with canned meat and pickled peppers. I'm hanging around with too many Swedes, or Poles, or something. Dark bread, sauerkraut, cured meats.

Summer days, summer nights aren't here. But I know a place where there's still something going on. My oven, if nowhere else. I bake my bread, I sing my song.

I just did a quick Bob Dylan and plagiarism search, and discovered that as of last year he's in trouble for painting other people's photographs and having them displayed at a gallery. That's Dylan all over. But I made a painting of it! It's new art--it's all new art. Even my bread.