Greetings, comrades of the breadolution,

I hope you're all soaking up the color and the sun and savoring the frosty mornings. We are nearing the end of the outdoor season. Our last outdoor market on the square will be on Saturday, November 10. We will begin the indoor market at Monona Terrace on November 17. Our first home delivery of the season will be on Friday, November 16. Stay tuned for more information as we get closer.

If you would like to be on our home delivery list, just send us an email. For those of you who are new to this list, you will receive an email on Sundays with the ordering menu once we begin delivering. In an effort to amuse, entertain, and occasionally annoy, I take this weekly opportunity to inflict upon you whatever poem or quotation or random bit of drivel that's currently taking up space in my mind. To kick things off, here's our poem of the week, perhaps appropriate for election season shenanigans: 

Ladder

But look!  The churches keep opening

their mouths   like trout left to dry in the grass.

And the corporations don’t fall down - see

how they run:

the blue suits, the black robes, and their President

whose brain is a bug rolling dung.

Of course, there’s blood on the money.

The vampires have always 

walked among us. 

But so have the trees!

The great stalker called commerce

and the Earth’s primordial solo

continue to be the windows

through which we arrive - one by one - naked,

splashing like birdless birds into the air,

almost blind, begging to be fed.

Why? To become this?

These workaday trolls scared of our newspapers, 

revved up ready to buy bigger alarms?

Look how the world rolls around the sun’s gold belly,

how the ocean is so much stranger than its word.

Isn’t everybody still 3/5ths water?

How lonely   does a truth have to be

before we bring its blues to our lips?

What we do not sing, what we drown in 

not saying - 

is already music.  And still, we keep

turning from the sound

like two-legged animals all buttoned and zipped

unwilling to recognize this tall ladder of bones

to which we cling briefly with our small teeth. 

And because we do not see well into the future

because we are busy taking as much as we can get because 

money has infected these days with its prolific germ,

what surrounds us looks like forever

but it is not -

just as today’s wind

with its grim whistle and bruise

is only the weather for a little while,

on past the dying edge   of the usual

what they said   could never be

begins.

- Tim Seibles