One evening, I had a visualization of a baker in the 1500s, working in a sweltering environment making bread. This imagery was so vivid, I wrote it down and decided to write the poem Birth of Dough. After much research into bakers of that period, I learned they were responsible for the main food source of the town. The Black Plague resurfaced around the 1530s in Europe and Nostradamus was a plague doctor then. Unfortunately, his wife and two children died during the plague.
Please see the links below for further information and reading on the subject.
The poem for this week is Birth of Dough from Follow: Akashic Dreaming Through Time.
Crawl of sunlight at the break of dawn as the clay oven’s timbers turn to ash. Patience beholds the birth of dough, it’s now ready. The long-handled peel inserts the town’s substance and waits until the bread’s golden smile. Wheat for nobility, rye, and barley for the peasants, includes my family. Laws and taxes burden the life force of the spiritual nourishment, yet I stood alone in the torture of the plague. The code of Nostradamus the plague doctor’s teachings—rid streets of cadavers, clean bedstraw, fresh air and rosehips for cure—our prayers. False prophets came before him and lured us in your name. Sacrificed joy and uneducated, I followed deceptive prayers believing you spoke and seldom being heard.
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https://www.thefinertimes.com/bakers-in-the-middle-ages