It’s about 8 a.m. on a bitterly cold Sunday, and I hear branches clacking against each other as the wind kicks up.

Birds — tufted titmice, chickadees, sparrows, nuthatches and woodpeckers — chatter and fuss as they flock to the feeders. The feeders hang just outside the second story windows to keep out of reach of hungry bears.

I scatter black oil sunflower seeds on the ground for the doves and juncoes.

Murray, our black-and-white cat, sits on the needlepointed seat of an antique wooden chair that once belonged to a dear friend’s mother, watching with keen interest the avian feeding frenzy.

Now happily into her third year as an indoor cat, Murray’s interest in the outside world is limited to bird-watching. The squirrel that sometimes perches on the windowsill earns the occasional disapproving glare.

I wash my hands, then measure a cup and a quarter of warm water into a stainless steel mixing bowl. I add a pinch of sugar, then sprinkle in two and a quarter teaspoons of yeast.

I sip coffee and join Murray in watching the birds for a few minutes, until the yeast begins bubbling.

I add a couple of teaspoons of salt and about a tablespoon of olive oil to the bowl, and stir the mixture. I add about three cups of bread flour, bit by bit, until the dough is soft, but no longer sticky.

Now comes the best part: kneading the dough.

For 10 minutes, my awareness of the anger, divisiveness, corruption and lust for power that rages around us fades away as I gently push and fold the dough.

The rhythm lulls me into a gentle, relaxed state of mind; I am grateful for the abundance with which I have been given.

When the dough is soft and pliant, I place it into a buttered bowl, cover it, and put it near the coal stove to rise. After a couple of hours, I shape it into a loaf, and let it rise again before baking it at 425 degrees, with a pan of water on the bottom shelf to make the crust glossy and crunchy.

About a half-hour later, I pull the loaf of bread out of the oven, and the aroma fills our old farmhouse.

Later, as we cut the bread at our family dinner, I am once again filled with gratitude.