Artisans (1530--2021)
Sunshine go away today, I don't feel much like dancing
Until I heard an ad for "small-batch pork rinds."
How much does it cost? I'll buy it!
Artisans died today.
I thought they died with artisan bagels, but I was wrong. A tiny flame still flickered for weavers and carpenters, for glassblowers and blacksmiths.
Even, for a time, the humble cheesemaker. Or a chocolatier.
That tiny artisan flame lived in my heart, and I fed it scraps of locally sourced wood chips and farm to table salad greens, and I thought that someday, it would burn brightly again.
Then the small-batch pork rinds came, and the flame extinguished.
It burns in me no more.
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