Mice run through fields of wind-whipped tassled grasses in Sassy. Cats pounce. Paths wander through, hither and thither, and then disappear. The wind snakes and turns the grasses away. Snakes slither. The villagers make dark bread from the rye grass flour. Visitors come to eat it smeared with thick butter. Mauve tassels top burgundy stalks. Red foxes nest in the grasses where brown and grey mice and rats and voles hide. Ducks and geese fly overhead on their way to waiting ponds with red reflections from the grass and sun.
In the village capitol, Certain, stone homes sink into the grass fields. Inside are stone ovens and hearths. The inhabitants of Certain bake rye bread, pumpernickel, and other black and red breads. They watch the grains grow and ripen. They thresh the grains, grind the flour, and knead the dough. They place loaves to prove on warm stone slabs, watch them rise, and then bake them hard in the oven. They wear thick coats and caps and sturdy rubber boots. Many dark autumn days linger in Sassy, but the Bakers of Certain stay warm and well fed.
In the village capitol, Certain, stone homes sink into the grass fields. Inside are stone ovens and hearths. The inhabitants of Certain bake rye bread, pumpernickel, and other black and red breads. They watch the grains grow and ripen. They thresh the grains, grind the flour, and knead the dough. They place loaves to prove on warm stone slabs, watch them rise, and then bake them hard in the oven. They wear thick coats and caps and sturdy rubber boots. Many dark autumn days linger in Sassy, but the Bakers of Certain stay warm and well fed.
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