"The Baker"

“The Baker”

When the last person whispers “goodnight” and the lights go out across the whole city, if you lay so still as to not to disturb the whining of the night you’ll notice it at first a smell—of well, what?

Flour in the air, raging through the sky. From bakers all over, far and wide, telling their story in the night. Warm bread will come when we wake up so now we sleep so it will come. A promise of a new day but for bakers their day has already begun. And we all talk of heroes or people who put aside their time to study or those who fight but I wondered there that night—Why don’t we ever talk of bakers?

What we do not see we do not understand. We do not ask enough whys, we do not care enough to know. Because we simply do not care who makes our bread and we do not care if they have to sleep alone we only care if it’s warm the next day.