The sound of the wheat as it flows into the grinder.
The crackle of my knees as I bend to pick up the oil jar
from the pantry floor.
The honey as it so neatly slides from the pre-oiled
measuring cup.
The scent of the yeast rushing from the canister as I open
it.
The scale jumping up a tenth of an ounce as I continue fluffing flour into the bowl.
The dough as it climbs the hook.
The resistance of the bench scraper as it cuts the dough in
half.
The grainy yet pillowy softness of the dough as it seems to
self-form in my hands.
Viewing the gentle mounds rising beneath the soft cotton of
the tea towel.
The oven telling me it’s ready to receive.
My nose telling me the bread is perfect regardless of what the timer indicates.
Turning the loaves out of the pans and sometimes having them
stick.
Eating the pieces that stick to the side as the scent permeates the kitchen.
The warmth of the water on my hands as I wash the pans.
And, before reaching up to the top shelf to place the pans
in their home, glancing over my shoulder to check the time, wondering if I have
time today to do it all over again.
Oh, and it tastes pretty good, too.
Your loaves are definitely bigger than my loaves.
ReplyDeleteMust try this again soon.