In the chill of winter night
Dripped the ice-coat Northern fright
Next morning, frozen-toed and white fingered,
In shutter speed shock, I saw Old Man Winter himself, unlocked.
At first strike, the water spun the mill wheel, grinding flour for the early settlers. The wheel was mounted on adjacent piles of rocks, here today. Fresh out of the oven, the toasty warm bread warmed the chilled farmers’ tummies.
The flour was later sold throughout the region, and bread quickly became a household item.
Leaf captured in motion in the shallows of the parking lot.