Dust motes danced
Dust motes danced in the warm light above the baker’s bench as she worked. The dough yielded under her hands—not with uniform give, but localized resistance suggesting an internal network of activity. Seasoned craftspeople consider these variations not errors, but evidence of countless tiny blooms reshaping its form; a slow expansion and collapse felt through subtle shifts in texture. A low hum resonated from the proofing chamber, mirroring the faint scent of fermentation rising as potential became something definite—a quiet solidity taking hold.