Carmella stared at the old photograph. Her father Luigi was in it as he lived. By the oven, holding a loaf of his famous French bread. She could almost feel the heat from the stone oven he carried from camp to camp. She stood in the snowstorm by his hidden grave, placed here because as a Gypsy "Don" he was wanted, even in death.
She loved him so. She his favorite. As she turned to leave, the smell of fresh bread baking drifted to her nose, brought by the wind. OR was it?
Love was in the air.


Comments: 23
French Bread and stone ovens. Marvelous !!
Diary of a phoenix rising
I called you the wrong name. {blondes get confused sometimes. LOL]
nice job....:)
Nice work!