WEBVTT

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The flower had long since settled into the

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deep grooves of the oak table,

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mapping the history of a hundred quiet mornings.

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Clara brushed a stray lock of hair from

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her forehead,

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leaving a faint white smudge, and stepped back

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to admire her morning work.

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In the center of the table rested the

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loaf.

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It was a masterpiece of the baker's art,

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its thick, golden -brown crust crackling softly as

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it cooled.

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Deep score marks cut into the top held

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a dusting of flour,

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and the irresistible scent of warm yeast and

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toasted grain filled every corner of the room.

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Golden shafts of sunlight poured lazily through the

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wavy glass of the kitchen window,

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cutting across the rough -hewn floorboards and dancing

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over a neat stack of cream -colored

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ceramic plates. Outside, the countryside was waking up,

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but inside, time seemed to stand

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still in the cozy embrace of the old

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farmhouse.

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Clara snipped a few sprigs of fresh rosemary

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from the clay pot resting on the windowsill,

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bruising the fragrant needles between her fingers before

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scattering them nearby.

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She poured a measure of golden olive oil

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into a small dish,

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the amber liquid catching the morning light.

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With a soft sigh, she pulled out a

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heavy wooden chair and sat down.

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Breaking off a steaming chunk of the crusty

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bread, she dipped it simply and closed her

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eyes,

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letting the quiet peace of the rustic kitchen

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wash entirely over her.