Good morning, everyone!
The old mill nestled deep in the cool forest
water slapping against old wet, soaked boards
swish, swish, the wheel turns,
grinding grains brought by villagers
stocking the larder for the coming cold months
The sounds inside the mill,
stone against stone, against grain
now a fine powder of flour
breads, pies, stews and pancakes
all to be stirred and blended
placed on an old worn wooded table for consumption
The old mills no longer needed now
power machines make quick work out of grains
but the ambiance of the old water wheel
serves up rich memories from the days of old.
Soaring Feather
08.06.08