Lake Lewisia #684

[scrubjayspeaks]

Leslie sat out on the back steps in the bakery and watched birds picking seeds and insects from the summer dry grasses, letting the sunrise wash over them while the next batch of loaves baked and the ones after that proved. The plants ate up the light, the birds filled themselves on nymphs, the yeast built its empires of sugar and gas, and Leslie imagined they could taste each new cell they would grow from each sip of juice. Tiny miracles, every one of them, gave the new day a gloss of magic over the mundane.

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LL#684