Mothflour

My latest Housatonic River encounter.  Me, him; we are curious, steadfast. And we are not amused.

My commute; a path that changes mercurial & redolent with every step.  Every day.

Dark Chocolate Mini-Ciabattas- I have to admit I really enjoy making these little sandwich-sized treasures.

By the bakery an island of ferns centered in the river, multi-trunked tree anchoring & standing vigil

My silent dawn walk to work.  Alone, and…not.

Cherry Pecan Bread- nestled, moments away from baking.  The dough is elusively complex. I’m getting there. 

Whole Wheat Multigrain Sourdough- An exercise of elegance in simplicity.

Peasant French- baked in a building from the 1890’s.  I try to give in to the magic, serve it, fuse with it.

The moonrise last night was breathtaking.  How distantly beautiful the free things of the world are 

The black squirrel’s tail is longer & more slender…  Something feline about this little neighbor

Walking home, I heard leafrustle & looked up to see one of the black squirrels, rare in this area & unheard of in NC 

100% Rye Sourdough- bold & strong, the crumb an elusive art to maintain.  The rye berries are milled inside the bakery.

I whisper to him if he knows Sir Brokenwing; if that stubborn misfit is still ok.  But he just watches.

The closest to a roommate I have asks me in his native tongue if he can have more seeds; I nod yes 

To anyone who may have missed the full moon last night; through the clouds & haze, still redolent, still closer