The baker’s hands, enfolding flour, in early hours of dusting clouds, with sweat of beating, oven power - full fruit of farmer’s toil in soil, and miller’s grinding at the wheel - work hours combined to harvest time, serve crusty pile of cottage loaves.
That cropping, winnow, flair-blown-grain, its progress through yeast secret work, to pastry resting, rising sun. All gathered ages, celebrate, when seasons’ cycle rolled right through, to mark field, market place, the trade and its tools, food delivery.
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